THE 

WIDOW  O'CALLAGHAN'S 

BOYS 


UCSB  LIBRARY 


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a 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 


"CAN'T  I  DEPIND  ON  YE,  B'YS?" 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's 
Boys 


BY 

GULIELMA   ZOLLINGER 


CHICAGO 

A.  C.  McCLURG  AND  COMPANY 
1898 


COPYRIGHT 

BY  A.  C.    McCmRG   *  Co. 
A.  D.  1898 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

PAGE. 

Can't  I  depind  on  ye,  b'ys?          .  Frontispiece 

It  's  your  father's  ways  you  have  .  .         15 

For  every  one  carried  something  .          .        26 

"Cheer  up,  Andy!"  he  said  ...  40 
Mrs.  Brady  looked  at  the  tall,  slender  boy  .  49 
Pat  donned  his  apron  ....  69 

"I  've  good  news  for  you,  Fannie,"  said  the 

General 86 

The  General  makes  the  gravy        .          .  .91 

Pat  doing  the  marketing        .          .  .  .106 

Pat  and  Mike  building  the  kitchen  .  I  29 

Up  on  the  roof  sat  Mike  with  his  knife  .      135 

Barney  and  Tommie  a-takin'  care  of  the  geese  151 
The  merchant  turned  to  the  girl  clerk  .  .  1 59 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  looked  astonished       .  .164 

Little  Jim  became  downright  sulky  .  .  193 
In  they  came  at  that  moment  .  .  .  208 

Jim  made  a  clatter  with  the  dishes  .  .      228 

Open  the  oven  door,  Jim  ....  249 
Look  at  that  Jim  work  .  .  .  .267 
Three  cheers  for  Jim  O'Callaghan  .  .  275 
Pat  and  Mike  were  one  on  each  side  of  him  .  293 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 


CHAPTER  I 

When  Mr.  O'Callaghan  died,  after  a 
long,  severe,  and  expensive  sickness,  he 
left  to  his  widow  a  state  of  unlimited  pov- 
erty and  seven  boys. 

"Sure,  an'  sivin's  the  parfect  number," 
she  said  through  her  tears  as  she  looked 
round  on  her  flock ;  c '  and  Tim  was  the  bist 
man  as  iver  lived,  may  the  saints  presarve 
him  an'  rist  him  from  his  dreadful  pains!" 

Thus  did  she  loyally  ignore  the  poverty. 
It  was  the  last  of  February.  Soon  they 
must  leave  the  tiny  house  of  three  rooms 
and  the  farm,  for  another  renter  stood 
ready  to  take  possession.  There  would 
be  nothing  to  take  with  them  but  their 
clothing  and  their  scant  household  furni- 
ture, for  the  farm  rent  and  the  sickness 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

had  swallowed  up  the  crop,  the  farming 
implements,  and  all  the  stock. 

Pat,  who  was  fifteen  and  the  oldest, 
looked  gloomily  out  at  one  of  the  kitchen 
windows,  and  Mike,  the  next  brother,  a 
boy  of  thirteen,  looked  as  gloomily  as  he 
could  out  of  the  other.  Mike  always  fol- 
lowed Pat's  lead. 

When  eleven-year-old  Andy  was  a  baby 
Pat  had  taken  him  for  a  pet.  Accordingly, 
when,  two  years  later,  Jim  was  born,  Mike 
took  him  in  charge.  To-day  Pat's  arm  was 
thrown  protectingly  over  Andy's  shoul- 
ders, while  Jim  stood  in  the  embrace  of 
Mike's  arm  at  the  other  window.  Barney 
and  Tommie,  aged  seven  and  five  respect- 
ively, whispered  together  in  a  corner,  and 
three-year-old  Larry  sat  on  the  floor  at  his 
mother's  feet  looking  wonderingly  up  into 
her  face. 

Five  days  the  father  had  slept  in  his 
grave,  and  still  there  was  the  same  solemn 
hush  of  sorrow  in  the  house  that  fell  upon 
it  when  he  died. 

"  And  what  do    you    intend  to  do  ? " 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

sympathetically  asked  Mrs.  Smith,  a  well- 
to-do  farmer's  wife  and  a  neighbor. 

The  widow  straightened  her  trim  little 
figure,  wiped  her  eyes,  and  replied  in  a 
firm  voice :  "  It's  goin'  to  town  I  am, 
where  there  's  work  to  be  got,  as  well  as 
good  schoolin'  for  the  b'ys." 

"  But  don't  you  think  that  seven  boys 
are  almost  more  than  one  little  woman  can 
support?  Hadn't  you  better  put  some 
of  them  out  —  for  a  time?"  —  the  kind 
neighbor  was  quick  to  add,  as  she  saw  the 
gathering  frown  on  the  widow's  face. 

"Sure,"  she  replied,  'twas  the  Lord  give 
me  the  b'ys,  an'  'twas  the  Lord  took  away 
their  blissid  father.  Do  ye  think  He'd  'a' 
done  ayther  wan  or  the  other  if  He  hadn't 
thought  I  could  care  for  'em  all  ?  An'  I 
will,  too.  It  may  be  we  '11  be  hungry — yis, 
an'  cold,  too — wanst  in  a  while.  But  it 
won't  be  for  long." 

"But  town  is  a  bad  place  for  boys,  I'm 
told,"  urged  the  neighbor. 

"Not  for  mine,"  answered  the  widow 
quietly.  "  They're  their  father's  b'ys, 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

an'  I  can  depind  on  'em.  They  moind 
me  loightest  word.  Come  here,  Pat,  an' 
Moike,  an'  Andy,  an'  Jim,  an'  Barney, 
an'  Tommie ! " 

Obediently  the  six  drew  near.  She 
raised  Larry  to  her  lap,  and  looked  up 
touchingly  into  their  faces.  "  Can 't  I 
depind  on  ye,  b'ys?  " 

"Yes,  mother,  course  you  can,"  an- 
swered Pat  for  them  all. 

A  moment  the  widow  paused  to  steady 
her  voice,  and  then  resumed,  "It's  all 
settled.  A-Saturday  I  goes  to  town  to 
get  a  place.  A-Monday  we  moves." 

The  neighbor  saw  that  it  was  indeed  set- 
tled, and,  like  a  discreet  woman,  did  not 
push  her  counsel  further,  but  presently  took 
her  leave,  hoping  that  the  future  might 
be  brighter  than  it  promised  for  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  and  her  boys. 

"Aise  'em  up  an'  down  the  hills,  Pat, 
the  dear  bastes  that  your  father  loved!  " 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  and  Pat  were  driving 
to  Wennott  behind  the  team  that  was 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

theirs  no  longer,  and  it  was  Saturday.  No 
need  to  speak  to  Pat.  The  whip  rested 
in  the  socket,  and  he  wished,  for  his  part, 
that  the  horses  would  crawl.  He  knew 
how  poor  they  were,  and  he  did  not  want 
to  go  to  town.  But  mother  said  town, 
and  town  it  must  be. 

Down  across  the  railroad  track,  a  little 
northeast  of  the  depot,  was  a  triangular 
bit  of  ground  containing  about  as  much 
as  two  lots,  and  on  it  had  been  erected  a 
poor  little  shanty  of  two  rooms.  The 
widow  knew  of  this  place,  and  she  meant 
to  try  to  secure  it. 

"'Twill  jist  do  for  the  loikes  of  us, 
Pat,  for  it 's  a  low  rint  we're  after,  an'  a 
place  quiet  loike  an'  free  from  obsarvers. 
If  it's  poor  ye  are,  well  an'  good,  but, 
'  says  I,  *  There's  no  use  of  makin'  a  show 
of  it.'  For  it's  not  a  pretty  show  that 
poverty  makes,  so  it  ain't,  an',  says  I,  CA 
pretty  show  or  none.'  I  see  you're  of 
my  moind,"  she  continued  with  a  shrewd 
glance  at  him,  "  an'  it  heartens  me  whin 
ye  agree  with  me,  for  your  father's  gone, 
13 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

an'  him  and  me  used  to  agree  wonder- 
ful." 

Pat's  lips  twitched.  He  had  been  very 
fond  of  his  father.  And  all  at  once  it 
seemed  to  him  that  town  and  the  shanty 
were  the  two  most  desirable  things  in  their 
future. 

"  But,  cheer  up,  Pat !  'Twas  your 
father  as  was  a  loively  man,  d'ye  moind  ? 
Yon's  the  town.  It's  hopin'  I  am  that 
our  business  '11  soon  be  done." 

Pat's  face  brightened  a  little,  for  he 
found  the  entry  into  even  so  small  a 
town  as  Wennott  a  diversion.  To-day  he 
looked  about  him  with  new  interest,  for 
here  were  streets  and  stores  that  were  to 
become  familiar  to  him.  They  entered 
the  town  from  the  south  and  drove  di- 
rectly to  its  center,  where  stood  the  court- 
house in  a  small  square  surrounded  by  an 
iron  hitching-rack.  Stores  faced  it  on 
every  side,  and  above  the  stores  were  the 
lawyers'  offices.  Which  one  belonged  to 
the  man  who  had  charge  of  the  place  the 
widow  wished  to  rent,  she  wondered,  and 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Pat  wondered,  as  she  stood  by,  while  he 
tied  the  horses. 

Above  the  stores,  too,  were  doctors' 
offices,  and  dentists'  offices,  dress-making- 
shops,  and  suites 
of  rooms  where 
young  couples 
and,  in  some 
instances,  small 
families  lived. 

"We'll  jist  be 
inquirin',        Pat. 
'Tis  the  only  way. 
But  what  to  ask 
for,  I  don't  know. 
Shall  I  be  sayin' 
the  bit  of  a  place --vVJ 
beyant         the     • 
tracks  ?" 

"  It's  your  father's  ways    you  have." 

'Yes,  mother. 
That 's  what  you  want,  ain't  it  ?  " 

"Sure  it  is,  an'  nothin'  else,  nayther. 
It's  your  father's  ways  you  have,  Pat. 
'Twas  himsilf  as  wint  iver  straight  after 
what  he  wanted." 

'5 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Pat's  eyes  beamed  and  he  held  himself 
more  proudly.  What  higher  praise  could 
there  be  for  him  than  to  be  thought  like 
his  father? 

It  chanced  that  the  first  lawyer  they 
asked  was  the  right  one. 

"  Luck's  for  us,"  whispered  the  little 
widow.  "Though  maybe  'twouldn't  have 
been  against  us,  nayther,  if  we'd  had  to 
hunt  a  bit." 

And  then  all  three  set  out  to  look  at  the 
poor  little  property. 

"  Sure,  an'  it  suits  me  purpose  intoirely," 
declared  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  when  the  bar- 
gain had  been  concluded.  "  An'  it's  home 
we'll  be  goin'  at  wanst.  We've  naught 
to  be  buyin'  the  day,  seein'  we  're  movin' 
in  on  Monday." 

Pat  made  no  answer. 

"Did  you  see  thim  geese  a-squawkin' 
down  by  the  tracks?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan, as  she  and  her  son  settled  them- 
selves on  the  high  spring  seat  of  the  farm 
wagon. 

Pat  nodded. 

16 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  There's  an  idea,"  said  his  mother. 
"There's  more  than  wan  in  the  world  as 
can  raise  geese.  An*  geese  is  nice  atin', 
too.  I  didn't  see  no  runnin'  water  near, 
but  there's  a  plinty  of  ditches  and  low 
places  where  there'll  be  water  a-standin' 
a  good  bit  of  the  toime.  An'  thim  that 
can  't  git  runnin'  water  must  take  standin'. 
Yis,  Pat,  be  they  geese  or  min,  in  this 
world  they  must  take  what  they  can  git 
an'  fat  up  on  it  as  much  as  they  can,  too." 

The  thin  little  woman — thin  from  over- 
work and  anxiety  and  grief — spoke  thus 
to  her  tall  son,  who,  from  rapid  growing, 
was  thin,  too,  and  she  spoke  with  a  sober- 
ness that  told  how  she  was  trying  to 
strengthen  her  own  courage  to  meet  the 
days  before  her.  Absorbed  in  themselves, 
mother  and  son  paid  no  heed  to  their  sur- 
roundings, the  horses  fell  into  their  accus- 
tomed brisk  trot,  and  they  were  soon  out 
on  the  narrow  road  that  lay  between  the 
fields. 

"Now,  Pat,  me  b'y,"  said  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan,  rousing  herself,  "you're  the  old- 
'7 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

est  an'  I'll  tell  you  my  plans.  I'm  a-goin' 
to  git  washin'  to  do." 

The  boy  looked  at  his  mother  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"  I  know  I'm  little,"  she  nodded  back 
at  him,  "  but  it's  the  grit  in  me  that 
makes  me  strong.  I  can  do  it.  For  Tim's 
b'ys  an'  mine  I  can  do  it.  Four  days  in 
the  week  I'll  wash  for  other  people,  Fri- 
day I'll  wash  for  my  own,  Saturday  I'll 
mind  for  'em,  an'  Sunday  I'll  rist." 

A  few  moments  there  was  silence.  The 
widow  seemed  to  have  no  more  to  say. 

"An'  what  am  I  to  do?"  finally  burst 
out  Pat.  "An'  what's  Mike  to  do?  Sure 
we  can  help  some  way." 

"That  you  can,  Pat.  I  was  comin'  to 
that.  Did  you  notice  the  biggest  room  in 
the  little  house  we  rinted  the  day?" 

Pat  nodded. 

"  I  thought  you  did.  You're  an  ob- 
sarvin'  b'y,  Pat,  jist  loike  your  father. 
Well,  I  belave  that  room  will  jist  about 
hold  three  beds  an'  lave  a  nate  little  path 
betwane  ivery  two  of 'em.  It's  my  notion 
18 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

we  can  be  nate  an'  clane  if  we  are  poor, 
an'  it'll  be  your  part  to  make  ivery  wan 
of  thim  beds  ivery  day  an'  kape  the  floor 
clane.  Larry  an'  mesilf,  we'll  slapeinthe 
kitchen,  an'  it's  hopin'  I  am  you'll  kape 
that  shoinin',  too.  An'  then  there's  the 
coal  to  be  got  in  an'  the  ashes  to  be  took 
out.  It  does  seem  that  iverything  you  bring 
in  is  the  cause  of  somethin'  to  be  took 
out,  but  it  can't  be  helped,  so  it  can't,  so 
'Out  with  it,'  says  I.  An'  there's  the 
dishes  to  be  washed  an' — I  hate  to  ask 
you,  Pat,  but  do  you  think  you  could  larn 
cookin'  a  bit? " 

She  looked  at  him  anxiously.  The  boy 
met  her  look  bravely. 

"If  you  can  work  to  earn  it,  'tis  meself 
as  can  cook  it,  I  guess,"  he  said. 

"Jist  loike  your  father,  you  are,  Pat. 
He  wasn't  niver  afraid  of  tryin'  nothin', 
an'  siven  b'ys  takes  cookin'.  An'  to  hear 
you  say  you'll  do  it,  whin  I've  larnt  you, 
of  course,  aises  me  moind  wonderful. 
There's  some  as  wouldn't  do  it,  Pat. 
I'm  jist  tellin*  you  this  to  let  you  know 
19 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

you're  better  than  most."    And  she  smiled 
upon  him  lovingly. 

"  If  the  most  of  'em's  that  mean  that 
they  wouldn't  do  what  they  could  an' 
their  mother  a-washin',  'tis  well  I'm  bet- 
ter than  them,  anyway,"  returned  Pat. 

"Ah,  but  Pat,  they'd  think  it  benathe 
'em.  'Tis  some  grand  thing  they'd  be 
doin'  that  couldn't  be  done  at  all.  That's 
the  way  with  some,  Pat.  It's  grand  or 
nothin',  an'  sure  an'  it's  ginerally  nothin', 
I  Ve  noticed." 

A  mile  they  went  in  silence.  And  then  ' 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan  said:  "As  for  the  rist, 
you'll  all  go  to  school  but  Larry,  an'  him 
I'll  take  with  me  when  I  go  a-washin'.  I 
know  I  can  foind  thim  in  the  town  that'll 
help  a  poor  widow  that  much,  an'  that's 
all  the  help  I  want,  too.  Bad  luck  to  beg- 
gars. I'm  none  of  'em." 

Pat  did  not  respond  except  by  a  kindly 
glance  to  show  that  he  heard,  and  his 
mother  said  no  more  till  they  drove  in  at 
the  farm  gate. 

"An'  it's  quite  the  man   Pat  is,"   she 

20 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

cried  cheerily  to  the  six  who  came  out 
to  meet  them.  "You'll  do  well,  all  of 
you,  to  pattern  by  Pat.  An'  it's  movin' 
we'll  be  on  Monday,  jist  as  I  told  you. 
It's  but  a  small  place  we've  got,  as  Pat 
will  tell  you  there.  Close  to  the  north 
side  of  the  town  it  is,  down  by  the  railroad 
tracks,  where  you  can  see  all  the  trains 
pass  by  day  an'  hear  'em  by  night;  an' 
there's  freight  cars  standin'  about  at  all 
toimes  that  you  can  look  at,  an'  they've 
got  iron  ladders  on  the  inds  of  'em,  but 
you  must  niver  be  goin'  a-climbin'  on  top 
of  thim  cars." 

At  this  announcement  Andy  and  Jim 
looked  interested,  and  the  eyes  of  Barney 
and  Tommie  fairly  shone  with  excitement. 
The  widow  had  accomplished  her  object. 
Her  boys  were  favorably  inclined  toward 
the  new  home,  and  she  slipped  into  her 
bedroom  to  shed  in  secret  the  tears  she 
could  no  longer  restrain. 


CHAPTER  II 

Sunday  dawned  cold  and  blustering — 
a  sullen  day  that  seemed  hardly  to  know 
which  way  was  best  to  make  itself  dis- 
agreeable, and  so  tried  them  all.  The 
stock  had  been  removed.  There  was  no 
work  outside  for  the  two  oldest  boys,  no 
watching  indoors  by  the  hungry  little 
brothers  for  Pat  and  Mike  to  be  through 
milking,  and  feeding,  and  pumping  water 
into  the  trough,  so  that  they  might  all 
have  breakfast  together.  Yes,  there  had 
been  a  little  work.  The  two  horses  which, 
with  the  wagon,  had  been  kindly  lent  them 
for  their  next  day's  moving  were  in  the 
barn.  Mike  had  fed  and  watered  them, 
Pat  had  combed  them,  and  both  had  pet- 
ted them. 

Many  a  time  that  day  would  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  slip  out  to  stroke  their  noses 
and  pat  their  glossy  necks  and  say  in  a 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

choked  voice,  "Tim's  horses!  Tim's 
horses!  and  we  can't  kape  'em!"  And 
many  a  time  that  day  would  she  smooth 
the  signs  of  grief  from  her  face  to  go  into 
the  house  again  with  what  cheer  she  could 
to  her  seven  sons,  who  were  gathered  list- 
lessly about  the  kitchen  stove.  Many  a 
time  that  day  would  she  tell  herself  stout- 
ly, "I'll  not  give  in!  I'll  not  give  in! 
I've  to  be  brave  for  eight,  so  I  have. 
Brave  for  my  b'ys,  and  brave  for  mesilf. 
And  shall  I  fret  more  than  is  good  for 
Tim's  horses  whin  I  know  it's  to  a  kind 
master  they're  goin',  and  he  himsilf  a 
helpin'  us  to-morrow  with  the  movin'? 
The  Lord's  will  be  done!  There's  thim 
that  thinks  the  Lord  has  no  will  for  horses 
and  such.  And  'tis  mesilf  is  thankful  that 
I  can't  agree  with  'em." 

Occasionally,  as  the  morning  passed, 
one  of  the  boys  stepped  to  the  window  for 
a  moment,  for  even  to  glance  out  at  flying 
flakes  and  a  wintry  landscape  was  a  relief 
from  the  depression  that  had  settled  down 
upon  them  all. 

23 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

That  was  a  neighborhood  of  churches. 
Seven  or  eight  miles  from  any  town,  it 
was  remarkable  to  see  three  churches 
within  half  a  mile  of  each  other.  Small, 
plain  buildings  they  were,  but  they  repre- 
sented the  firm  convictions  of  the  United 
Brethren,  the  United  Presbyterians,  and 
the  Methodists  for  many  miles  around. 
Now  all  these  people,  vary  as  they  might 
in  church  creeds,  were  united  in  a  hearty 
admiration  for  plucky  little  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan.  They  all  knew,  though  the 
widow  would  not  own  it,  that  destitution 
was  at  her  door.  The  women  feared  that 
in  taking  her  boys  to  town  she  was  taking 
them  to  their  ruin,  while  the  men  thought 
her  course  the  only  one,  since  a  destitute 
woman  can  hardly  run  a  farm  with  only 
seven  growing  boys  to  help  her.  And 
for  a  day  or  two  there  had  been  busy  rid- 
ing to  and  fro  among  the  neighbors. 

The    snow  fell  fitfully,   and  the  wind 

howled  in  gusts,  but  every  farmer  hitched 

up  and  took   his  wife  and  children  with 

him,  and  no  family  went  empty-handed. 

24 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

For  every  road  to  every  church  lay  straight 
by  the  widow's  door.  Short  cuts  there  were 
to  be  used  on  general  occasions,  but  that 
morning  there  was  but  the  one  road.  And 
so  it  fell  out  that  by  ten  o'clock  there  was 
a  goodly  procession  of  farm  wagons,  with 
here  and  there  a  buggy,  and  presently  the 
widow's  fence  was  lined  with  teams,  and 
the  men,  women,  and  children  were  alight- 
ing and  thronging  up  the  narrow  path  to 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan's  door.  There  was  no 
merriment,  but  there  was  a  kindly  look 
on  every  face  that  was  beautiful  to  see. 
And  there  were  those  between  whom  bit- 
terness had  been  growing  that  smiled 
upon  each  other  to-day,  as  they  jostled 
burdens  on  the  path;  for  every  one  car- 
ried something,  even  the  children,  who 
stumbled  by  reason  of  their  very  im- 
portance. 

The  widow  looked  out  and  saw  the  full 
hands,  and  her  heart  sank.  Was  she  to 
be  provided  for  by  charity  ?  She  looked 
with  her  keen  eyes  into  the  crowd  of 
faces,  and  her  heart  went  up  into  her 
25 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

throat.  It  was  not  charity,  but  neighbor- 
liness  and  good  will  she  read  there. 

"  I'd  be  wan  of  'em,  if  somebody  else 
was  me,  may  the  Lord  bless  'em,"  she  said 
as  she  opened  wide  the  door. 

In  they  trooped,  and,  for  a  moment, 
everybody  seemed  to  be  talking  at  once. 


JPv 


For  every  one  carried  something." 


It  sometimes  needs  a  great  deal  of  talk  to 
make  a  kind  deed  seem  like  nothing  at  all. 
Sometimes  even  a  great  deal  of  talk  fails 
to  do  so.  It  failed  to-day. 

Tears  were  running  unheeded  down  the 
widow's  face.  Not  even  her  boys  knew 
how  everything  was  gone,  and  she  left 
with  no  money  to  buy  more.  And  every- 
body tried  not  to  see  the  tears  and  every- 
26 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

body  talked  faster  than  ever.  Then  the 
first  church  bell  rang  out,  and  old  and 
young  turned  to  go.  There  came  a  little 
lull  as  one  after  another  gave  the  widow's 
hand  a  cordial  clasp. 

"  My  friends,"  said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan — 
she  could  be  heard  now — "  my  dear  friends, 
I  thank  you  all.  You  have  made  my 
heart  strong  the  day." 

"  I  call  that  a  pretty  good  way  to  put 
in  time  on  Sunday,"  said  one  man  to  an- 
other as  they  were  untying  their  teams. 

"  Makes  going  to  church  seem  worth 
while,  for  a  fact,"  returned  his  neighbor. 

Not  till  the  last  vehicle  had  passed  from 
sight  did  the  widow  look  round  upon 
what  her  neighbors  had  left  her,  and  then 
she  saw  sufficient  pantry  stores  to  last 
even  seven  growing  boys  for  a  month. 
And  among  the  rest  of  her  gifts  she  found 
coal  for  a  week.  She  had  not  noticed  her 
sons  as  she  busily  took  account  of  her 
stock,  but  when  she  had  finished  she  said, 
"B'ys,  b'ys!  'tis  your  father  sees  the 
hearts  of  these  good  people  this  day  and 
27 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

rej'ices.  Ah,  but  Tim  was  a  ginerous 
man  himsilf !  It's  hopin*  I  am  you'll  all 
be  loike  him." 

That  night  when  the  younger  boys  were 
in  bed  and  only  Pat  and  Mike  sat  keeping 
her  company,  the  widow  rose  from  her 
seat,  went  to  a  box  already  packed  and 
took  therefrom  an  account  book  and 
pencil. 

"They're  your  father's,"  she  said,  "but 
it's  a  good  use  I'll  be  puttin*  'em  to." 

Writing  was,  for  the  hand  otherwise  ca- 
pable, a  laborious  task;  but  no  help  would 
she  have  from  either  of  her  sons. 

"  May  I  ask  you  not  to  be  spakin'  ? " 
she  said  politely  to  the  two.  "  It's  not 
used  to  writin'  I  am,  and  I  must  be  think- 
in'  besides." 

Two  hours  she  sat  there,  her  boys  glanc- 
ing curiously  at  her  now  and  then  at  first, 
and  later  falling  into  a  doze  in  their  chairs. 
She  wrote  two  words  and  stopped.  Over 
and  over  she  wrote  two  words  and  stopped. 
Over  and  over  until  she  had  written  two 
words  and  stopped  fifty  times.  And 
28 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

often  she  wiped  away  her  tears.  At  last 
her  task  was  done,  and  there  in  the  book, 
the  letters  misshapen  and  some  of  the 
words  misspelled,  were  the  names  of  all 
who  had  come  to  her  that  morning.  Just 
fifty  there  were  of  them.  She  read  them 
over  carefully  to  see  that  she  had  not  for- 
gotten any. 

"Maybe  I'll  be  havin'  the  chance  to  do 
'em  a  good  turn  some  day,"  she  said.  "I 
will,  if  I  can.  But  whether  I  do  or  not, 
I've  got  it  here  in  writin',  that  when  all 
was  gone,  and  I  didn't  have  nothing  the 
Lord  sint  fifty  friends  to  help  me  out. 
Let  me  be  gettin'  down  in  the  heart  and 
discouraged  again,  and  I'll  take  this  book 
and  read  the  Lord's  doin's  for  me.  Come 
Pat  and  Moike !  It's  to  bed  you  must  be 
goin',  for  we're  to  move  to-morrow,  do 
you  moind? " 


CHAPTER  III 

According  to  Mrs.  O'Callaghan's  plans, 
the  moving  was  accomplished  the  next 
day.  There  was  but  one  load  of  house- 
hold goods,  so  that  the  two  teams  of  their 
kind  neighbor  made  only  one  trip,  but 
that  load,  with  the  seven  boys  and  their 
mother,  filled  the  shanty  by  the  tracks  to 
overflowing.  The  little  boys  immedi- 
ately upon  their  arrival  had  been  all  eyes 
for  the  trains,  and,  failing  them,  the  freight 
cars.  And  they  had  reluctantly  promised 
never  to  ascend  the  iron  freight  car  lad- 
ders when  they  had  been  in  their  new 
home  only  one  hour. 

"  Whin  you  're  dailin'  with  b'ys  take 
'em  in  toime,"  was  the  widow's  motto. 
"  What's  the  use  of  lettin'  'em  climb  up 
and  fall  down,  and  maybe  break  their  legs 
or  arms,  and  then  take  their  promise? 
30 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Sure,  and  I'll   take  it   before  the   harm's 
done,  so  I  will." 

Such  tooting  the  delighted  little  fellows 
had  never  heard.  "  Barney  ! "  whispered 
Tommie,  in  the  middle  of  the  night,  with 
a  nudge.  "  Barney  !  there's  another  of 
'em!" 

"  And  listen  to  the  bell  on  it,"  returned 
Barney.  "  Ain't  you  glad  we  moved  ?  " 

And  then  they  fell  asleep  to  wake  and 
repeat  the  conversation  a  little  later.  Larry 
was  the  only  one  who  slept  the  night 
through.  The  rest  were  waked  so  many 
times  by  the  unaccustomed  noise  that  one 
night  seemed  like  twenty. 

"  We'll  be  used  to  it  in  toime,"  said 
the  heavy-eyed  little  widow  to  yawning 
Pat  and  Mike  the  next  morning.  "  And 
the  more  things  you  get  used  to  in  this 
world  the  better  for  you.  I  belave  it's 
quite  something  loike  to  be  able  to  sleep 
with  engines  tootin'  and  blowin'  off  steam, 
and  bells  a-ringin',  and  cars  a-bumpin'. 
Even  a  baby  can  slape  where  'tis  quiet, 
you  know." 

31 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Breakfast  had  been  over  an  hour. 
"  Now,  Pat,"  said  his  mother,  "  that's  not 
the  way  to  make  beds.  Off  with  them 
covers  and  make  'em  over  again." 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  was  standing  in  the 
doorway  and  looking  in  at  the  roomful  of 
beds.  "I  don't  mane  it  for  unkindness, 
Pat,  but  sure  and  the  way  you've  got 
'em  made  up  they  look  jistloike  pigs'nests 
with  covers  over  'em.  There,  that's  bet- 
ter," she  commented  when  Pat  had  obedi- 
ently made  all  the  beds  over  again  under 
her  instructions.  "  You  can't  larn  all 
there  is  to  bed-makin'  in  a  day.  'Tis 
practice  makes  parfect,  as  your  copy  book 
used  to  say.  But  I'm  thinkin'  you'll 
have  it  in  a  week,  for  you're  your  father's 
son,  and  he  was  a  quick  wan  to  larn,  was 
Tim.  And  now  I'll  be  teachin'  you  a 
bit  of  cookin'  while  I  have  the  chance. 
You  must  larn  that  as  quick  as  you  can, 
Pat,  for  a  poor  cook  wastes  a  sight,  besides 
settin'  dishes  of  stuff  on  the  table  that 
none  but  pigs  can  eat.  And  in  most  places 
the  pigs  would  get  their  messes,  but  here 
32 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

we've  got  no  pigs,  and  whativer  you  cook 
we've  got  to  be  eatin'.  Andy  was  askin' 
for  beans  for  to-morrow  a  bit  ago.  What 's 
your  ideas  about  bakin'  beans,  Pat  ?  How 
would  you  do  it  ?  " 

Pat  thought  a  moment.  "  I'd  wash 
'em  good,  and  put  'em  in  a  pan,  and  bake 
'em,"  he  said. 

"  Sure,  then,  you've  left  out  one  thing. 
With  that  receipt,  Pat,  you'd  need  a  ham- 
mer to  crack  'em  with  after  they  was 
baked.  No,  no,  Pat,  you  pick  'em  over 
good  and  put  'em  a-soak  over  night.  In 
the  mornin'  you  pick  'em  over  again,  and 
wash  'em  good  and  bile  'em  awhile,  and 
pour  off  the  water,  and  bile  'em  again  in 
fresh  water  with  jist  enough  salt  in  it,  and 
then  you  put  'em  in  the  oven  and  bake 
'em  along  with  a  piece  of  pork  that's  been 
a-bilin'  in  another  kittle  all  the  toime." 

Pat  looked  a  trifle  astonished,  but  all  he 
said  was,  "  Baked  beans  is  a  queer  name 

c       >  •     > x_    •.»-  5  »» 

tor   em,  am  t  it  r 

Mrs.     O'Callaghan    smiled.      "That's 
the   short  of  it,   Pat,  jist  the  short  of  it. 
33 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

The  names  of  things  don't  tell  halt  there 
is  to  'em  sometoimes.  And  now  for  the 
dinner.  It's  belavin'  I  am  you  can  cook 
it  with  me  standin'  by  to  help  you  out 
when  you  get  into  trouble." 

Pat  tied  on  a  clean  apron,  washed  his 
hands  and  set  to  work. 

"  That's  it !  That's  it !  "  encouraged 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  from  time  to  time,  as 
the  cooking  progressed.  "And  I'll  jist 
be  tellin'  you,  Pat,  you're  not  so  green  as 
some  girls  I've  seen.  I'd  rather  have  a 
handy  b'y  as  an  unhandy  girl  any  day." 

A  little  later  she  stood  in  the  shanty 
door.  "  Come,  Moike !  "  she  called. 
"  Bring  the  little  b'ys  in  to  dinner.  Pat's 
a-dishin'  it  a'ready." 

Mike  had  been  detailed  by  his  prudent 
mother  as  a  guard  to  prevent  his  small 
brothers  from  making  too  intimate  ac- 
quaintance with  freight  cars  and  engines. 
He  was  by  this  time  pretty  hungry,  and 
he  marshaled  in  his  squad  with  scant  cere- 
mony. 

A  week  went  by  and  the  widow  was 
34 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

settled.  Each  boy  was  placed  in  his  proper 
class  at  the  public  school,  and  the  mother 
had  her  coveted  four  washing  places. 

"  I  didn't  come  to  town  to  be  foolin' 
my  toime  away,  so  I  didn't,"  said  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan,  as  she  sat  down  to  rest  with 
a  satisfied  face.  "  Pat,"  she  continued, 
"  you've  done  foine  with  the  work  this 
week.  All  I've  to  say  is,  f  Kape  on.'  It'll 
kape  you  busy  at  it  with  school  on  your 
hands,  but,  sure,  them  as  is  busy  ain't  in 
mischief,  nayther." 

The  next  week  all  went  well  with  the 
widow  and  Larry  as  usual,  but  the  boys  at 
school  found  rough  sailing. 

"  Ah,  but  Mrs.  Thompson's  thejewel !" 
cried  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  on  Monday  even- 
ing. "  She  do  be  sayin'  that  Larry's  a 
cute  little  fellow,  and  she  has  him  in  to 
play  where  she  is,  and  he  gets  to  hear  the 
canary  bird  sing,  so  he  does.  Didn't  I 
be  tellin'  you,  Pat,  that  I  knew  there  was 
them  in  this  town  would  help  me  that 
way  ?  But  what  makes  you  all  look  so 
glum  ?  Didn't  you  foind  the  school  foine 

35 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  day  ?  Niver  moind  !  You  ain't  ac- 
quainted yet.  And  jist  remember  that 
iverybody  has  a  deal  to  bear  in  this  world, 
and  the  poor  most  of  all.  If  anybody  does 
you  a  rale  wrong,  come  tell  me  of  it.  But 
if  it's  only  nignaggin',  say  naught  about 
it.  'Twon't  last  foriver,  anyway,  and  them 
that's  mane  enough  to  nignag  a  poor  b'y 
is  too  mane  to  desarve  attintion,  so  they 
are." 

The  widow  looked  searchingly  at  her 
older  sons.  She  saw  them,  under  the  tonic 
of  her  sound  counsel,  straighten  themselves 
with  renewed  courage,  and  she  smiled  upon 
them. 

"  I'll  niver  be  makin'  Tim's  b'ys  weak- 
spirited  by  lettin'  'em  tittle-tattle  of  what 
can't  be  helped,"  she  thought. 

"Now,  b'ys,  heads  up  and  do  your 
bist!"  she  said  the  next  morning  as  she 
went  to  her  work. 

But  it  was  one  thing  to  hold  up  their 

heads  at  the  shanty,  and  quite  another  to 

hold    them  up  on    the    noisy,    swarming 

campus    where    they    knew    nobody,  and 

36 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

where  the  ill-bred  bullies  of  the  school 
felt  free  to  jeer  and  gibe  at  their  poor 
clothing  and  their  shy,  awkward  ways. 

"Patrick  O'Callaghan!"  yelled  Jim 
Barrows  derisively. 

It  was  recess  and  the  campus  was  over- 
flowing with  boys  and  girls,  but  Pat  was 
alone.  "Just  over  from  the  'ould  coon- 
thry',"  he  continued.  "You  can  tell  by 
his  clothes.  He  got  wet  a-comin',  and 
just  see  how  they've  shrunk !" 

The  overgrown,  hulking  fellow  lounged 
closer  to  the  tall  and  slender  Irish  boy, 
followed  by  the  rough  set  that  acknowl- 
edged him  as  a  leader.  Some  measured 
the  distance  from  the  ends  of  Pat's  jacket 
sleeves  to  his  wrists,  while  others  predicted 
the  number  of  days  that  must  elapse  be- 
fore his  arms  burst  through  the  sleeves. 

The  spirit  of  the  country-bred  boy 
quailed  before  this  coarse  abuse,  which  he 
knew  not  how  to  resent.  He  glanced 
about  him,  but  no  way  of  escape  offered. 
He  was  hemmed  in.  And  then  the  bell 
struck.  Recess  was  over.  He  thought 

o 
37 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

of  his  brothers  in  different  grades  from 
himself,  though  in  the  same  building.  "  Is 
there  them  that  makes  it  hot  for  'em  when 
they  can?"  he  said  anxiously  to  himself. 
"  We'll  have  to  be  stayin'  more  together 
mornin's  and  noons  and  recesses,  so  we 
will." 

But  staying  together  did  not  avail.  Jim 
Barrows  and  his  set  found  more  delight  in 
tormenting  several  unresisting  victims  than 
they  could  possibly  have  enjoyed  with  only 
one. 

"Ah,  but  this  nignaggin's  hard  to 
stand !  "  thought  Pat  a  week  later.  He 
was  on  his  way  to  school.  Pat  was  always 
last  to  get  off  on  account  of  his  work. 
That  morning  Jim  Barrows  was  feeling 
particularly  valiant.  He  thought  of  the 
"  O'Callaghan  tribe,"  as  he  called  them, 
and  his  spirits  rose.  He  was  seventeen 
and  large  for  his  age.  "  Them  low  Irish 
needs  somebody  to  keep  'em  to  their 
places,"  he  said  to  himself,  "and  I'm  the 
one  to  do  it." 

Just  then  he  spied  Andy  a  few  steps 
38 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ahead  of  him,  Andy,  who  was  only  eleven, 
and  small  and  frail.  Two  strides  of  his 
long  legs  overtook  the  little  boy.  A  big, 
ugly  hand  laid  itself  firmly  on  the  shrink- 
ing little  shoulder.  Words  of  abuse  assailed 
the  sensitive  ears,  and  were  followed  by  a 
rude  blow.  Then  Jim  Barrows,  regarding 
his  duty  done  for  that  time,  lounged  on, 
leaving  the  little  fellow  crying  pitifully. 

A  few  moments  later,  Pat  came  along, 
and,  finding  his  favorite  brother  cry- 
ing, insisted  upon  knowing  the  reason. 
And  Andy  told  him.  With  all  the  abuse 
they  had  borne,  not  one  of  the  brothers 
had  been  struck  before.  As  Pat  listened 
his  anger  grew  to  fury.  His  blue  eves 
flashed  like  steel. 

"  Cheer  up,  Andy!  "  he  said,  "and  run 
on  to  school.  You  needn't  be  afraid.  I 
can't  go  with  you;  I've  business  on  hand. 
But  you  needn't  be  afraid." 

He  had  just  ten  minutes  till  school 
would  call.  Who  was  that,  two  blocks 
off",  loitering  on  a  corner  ?  Was  it  ?  —  it 
was  Jim  Barrows. 

39 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan  s  Boys 

With  a  dogged  step  that  did  not  seem 
hurried,    Pat    yet   went    rapidly  forward. 
Straight  up  to  the  bully  he  walked  and 
looked    him   firmly  in    the   eye.     "You 
struck     my     brother 
Andy    because     you 
,-•  thought       you 
could,"     he     said. 
And  then,  in  the  lan- 
•- — "  guage  of  those  West- 
ern boys,  "he  lit  into  him." 
"  'Tis  Andy's  fist  is  on  you 
now!"  he  cried,  while  he 
rained  blows  on  the  hulk- 
ing   coward,    who    did 
not  offer  to  defend  him- 
self.    "And  there  !  "  with 
a  tremendous  kick  as  Jim 

•• '  Cheer  up,  Andy! '  he  said."        BarrOWS  turned  to    TUtt, 

"  is  a  taste  of  his  foot.  Touch  him  again 
if  you  dare!  " 

Needless  to  say,  he  didn't  dare. 

"  I  hear  your  brother  Andy's  been  fight- 
ing," said  the  principal,  as  he  stopped  Pat 
the  next  day  in  the  street.  "At  least, 
4o 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

there  are  marks  of  Andy's  fist  and  Andy's 
foot  on  Jim  Barrows."  His  eyes  twinkled 
as  he  spoke  and  then  grew  grave  again. 
"  Fighting's  a  bad  thing  in  general,  but 
you  are  excusable,  my  lad,  you  are  excus- 
able." 

Pat  looked  after  the  principal  going  with 
a  quick  firm  step  on  his  busy  way,  and 
thought  him  the  finest  man  in  town,  for, 
so  far,  nobody  had  given  the  poor  Irish 
boy  a  word  of  sympathy  and  encourage- 
ment. 

That  evening  Pat  ventured  to  tell  his 
mother. 

"And  so  that's  what  the  principal  said, 
is  it  ? "  commented  Mrs.  O'Callaghan. 
"  He's  a  man  of  sinse.  Your  father  was 
a  man  of  great  sinse,  Pat.  Fightin*  is  a 
bad  thing,  so  it  is.  But  your  father's 
gone,  and  it's  you  must  kape  the  little 
wans  from  harm  in  his  place.  You'd  be 
but  a  bad  brother  to  stand  by  and  see  any 
wan  strike  little  Andy.  There's  some 
things  has  got  to  be  put  a  stop  to,  and  the 
sooner  it's  done  the  better,  says  I."  Then 
41 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

after  a  pause,  "  I  hope  you  larn  your  les- 
sons, Pat  ?  " 

"  I  do,  mother." 

"  I  thought  you  would.  Your  father 
always  larnt  all  that  come  handy  to  him. 

Larnin's    no    load,    Pat.      Larn    all    you 

» 
can. 

Now  Pat,  with  the  exception  of  Latin, 
was  no  whit  behind  other  boys  of  his  age, 
for  he  had  been  sent  to  school  in  the  coun- 
try from  the  time  he  was  five  years  old. 
The  fight  being  over,  he  gave  his  mind 
thoroughly  to  his  books,  a  thing  he  could 
not  do  while  he  did  not  know  what  to  ex- 
pect from  Jim  Barrows  and  his  set,  and  his 
class-standing  was  high. 

And  now  the  first  of  April  was  at  hand. 
The  O'Callaghans  had  been  a  month  in 
town  and  the  widow  was  beginning  to  see 
that  she  had  overestimated  the  purchasing 
power  of  what  she  could  earn  at  four  wash- 
ing places.  Four  dollars  a  week  needed  a 
supplement.  How  could  it  be  supplied? 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan  cast  about  in  her  mind. 
She  had  already  discovered  that  Wennott 
42 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

offered  a  poor  field  for  employment,  so  far 
as  boys  were  concerned,  and  yet,  in  some 
way,  her  boys  must  help  her.  By  day,  by 
night  she  thought  and  could  hit  upon 
nothing  unless  she  took  her  sons  from 
school. 

"And  that  I'll  not  do,"  she  said,  "for 
larnin'  is  at  the  root  of  everything." 


CHAPTER  IV 

Is  Friday  an  unlucky  day?  You  could 
not  get  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  to  think  so,  for 
it  was  upon  the  Friday  that  closed  a  week 
of  anxious  thinking  that  Mrs.  Brady  called 
at  the  shanty.  Neither  could  you  get  Mrs. 
Brady  to  think  so,  for — but  let  us  begin 
a  little  farther  back.  Hired  girls,  as  they 
were  called  in  Wennott,  were  extremely 
scarce.  Mrs.  Brady  was  without  one — 
could  not  get  one,  though  she  had  adver- 
tised long  and  patiently.  Now  she  was 
tired  to  exhaustion.  Sitting  in  the  old 
wooden  rocker  that  had  been  Mr.  O'Cal- 
laghan's,  Mrs.  Brady  rested  a  few  moments 
closely  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  the 
O'Callaghan  furniture. 

"  'Tis  a  bit  snug,  ma'am,"  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan had  said  when  piloting  her  to  this 
seat,  "  but  it's  my  belafe  my  b'ys  don't 

44 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

moind  the  snugness  of  it  so  much  as  they 
would  if  they  was  girls." 

Mrs.  Brady  mechanically  agreed. 

The  four  walls  of  the  kitchen  were 
rather  too  close  together  to  inclose  a  bed, 
a  wash-bench,  two  tubs,  a  cooking  stove,  a 
table,  seven  Windsor  chairs,  the  water  pail, 
the  cupboard,  and  the  rocking-chair  in 
which  Mrs.  Brady  sat,  and  leave  anything 
but  a  tortuous  path  for  locomotion.  The 
boys  knew  the  track,  however,  and  seldom 
ran  up  against  anything  with  sufficient 
force  to  disturb  it  or  their  own  serenity. 
But  there  was  not  a  speck  of  dust  any- 
where, as  Mrs.  Brady  noticed. 

The  widow's  face  was  a  little  careworn 
and  anxious  as  she  sat  close  at  hand  in 
one  of  the  wooden  chairs  listening  to  Mrs. 
Brady's  explanation  of  her  need  of  help. 

"  You  have  been  recommended  to  me 
by  Mrs.  Thompson.  Could  you  come  to 
me  to-morrow,  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  ?  It 
will  be  a  day  of  sweeping  and  general 
cleaning,"  she  concluded. 

The    widow's    countenance    began    to 

45 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

brighten.  She  saw  her  way  out  of  the 
difficulty  that  had  been  puzzling  her. 

"  I  can't  come  mesilf,  she  answered 
politely,  "  for  what  with  my  sivin  b'ys 
I've  my  own  work  that  can't  be  neglected. 
But  my  son,  Pat,  will  do  it  for  you.  I'll 
come  with  him  jist  to  get  him  started 
loike,  for  he's  niver  swept  a  carpet,  though 
he  swapes  a  bare  floor  ilegant." 

Well,  to  be  sure,  Mrs.  Brady  was  not 
overjoyed.  But  she  saw  it  was  Pat  or  no- 
body, and  she  was  very  tired.  So  she 
agreed  to  try  him. 

"And  when  will  you  have  him  come?" 
asked  Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  There  was  no 
doubt  expressed  on  the  mother's  face;  no 
fear  lest  her  son  might  not  be  able  to 
please. 

"At  eight,"  responded  Mrs.  Brady. 
"  I  cannot  be  ready  for  him  sooner." 

"  Then  together  we'll  be  there,  you  may 
depind." 

And  Mrs.  Brady,  on  the  whole  dissat- 
isfied, went  on  her  way.  "  If  that  boy — 
Pat,  I  think  she  called  him — can  do  house- 
46 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

work  satisfactorily,  he's  the  only  boy  that 
I've  heard  of  here  that  can,"  she  thought. 

The  next  morning  when  the  two  pre- 
sented themselves,  Mrs.  Brady,  after  show- 
ing Mrs.  O'Callaghan  where  to  leave  her 
wraps,  led  the  way  at  once  to  her  bedroom. 
"  Perhaps  you  will  just  make  my  bed  for 
me  before  you  go,  Mrs.  O'Callaghan," 
she  insinuated.  "  It  has  been  properly 
aired  and  is  ready." 

"Oh,  Pat  will  make  it  for  you,  ma'am," 
was  the  answer,  and  again  Mrs.  Brady 
yielded. 

"  Now,  Pat,  on  with  your  blouse." 

The  two  women  waited  while  Pat  un- 
tied the  bundle  he  carried  and  put  on  a 
clean  cotton  blouse. 

"'Twas  his  father's  blouse,  ma'am.  A 
bit  loose  now,  but  he'll  grow  to  it.  He's 
very  loike  his  father." 

Mrs.  Brady  looked  at  the  tall,  slender 
boy  wearing  his  father's  blouse  and  his 
mother's  apron,  with  an  old  straw  hat  on  his 
head  for  a  dust  protector,  and  then  at  the 
mother  watching  his  every  movement  with 
47 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

loving  eyes,  and  only  anxious  that  he  might 
give  satisfaction.  And  all  sense  of  incon- 
gruity vanished  from  her  mind. 

"  Now,  Pat,  show  the  lady  what  you 
can  do."  And  Pat  obeyed  as  if  he  were 
five  instead  of  fifteen.  The  dead  father 
had  trained  his  sons  from  their  babyhood 
to  yield  implicit  obedience  to  their  mother. 
Deftly  he  set  to  work.  He  turned  the 
mattress;  he  smoothed  and  tucked  in  each 
sheet  and  cover  as  he  put  it  on;  he  beat 
up  the  pillows,  and  within  ten  minutes 
the  bed  was  perfectly  made.  There  was 
no  need  for  Mrs.  Brady  to  speak.  She 
showed  her  surprise  and  delight  in  her 
face. 

"I  was  thinkin'  Pat  could  suit  you, 
ma'am,"  smiled  the  mother.  "And  now, 
if  you've  more  beds,  maybe  Pat  had  better 
make  'em  before  the  dust  of  the  swapin' 
is  on  him." 

"I  have  no  more  this  morning,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  Brady  courteously. 

"Then,  Pat,  there's  the  broom."  Then 
she  turned  to  Mrs.  Brady.  "  Now, 
48 


"  Mrs.  Brady  looked  at  the  tall,  slender  boy." 
49 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ma'am,  what's  your  ideas  about  swapin'? 
There's  them  that  says,  'Swape  aisy  and 
not  be  gettin'  the  wools  off  the  carpet.' 
But  them  wools  don't  many  of  'em  come 
off  the  carpet.  There's  a  plinty  of  'em 
comes  on  bare  floors  that  ain't  swept  regu- 
lar. I  says,  *  A  vigorous  swapin'  and  no 
light  brushin'  except  by  a  lady  loike  your- 
silf  as  hasn't  got  strength.' ' 

"  Those  are  my  ideas,  too,"  said  Mrs. 
Brady  as  with  an  air  of  satisfaction  she 
began  to  spread  the  dust  covers  over  her 
bed. 

All  day  Pat  swept  and  dusted  and  wiped 
paint  and  window  panes,  and  at  night  he 
went  home  with  seventy-five  cents  in  his 
pocket. 

The  widow  was  getting  supper,  but  she 
worked  mechanically,  for  her  heart  was  in 
her  ears,  and  they  were  listening  for  Pat's 
step.  The  brothers,  stowed  here  and 
there  in  chinks  between  the  pieces  of 
furniture,  watched  with  eager  eyes  their 
mother's  movements,  and  sniffed  the  sa- 
vory odors  that  escaped  from  a  perfectly 
51 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

clean  saucepan  in  capable  hands.  But  no 
boy  lounged  on  the  bed,  nor  even  leaned 
against  it,  and  no  one  sat  in  the  father's 
chair.  To  sit  there  meant  special  honor 
at  the  hands  of  the  family. 

"And  it's  Pat  will  sit  in  the  rocking- 
chair  and  rest  himsilf  this  avenin',"  cried 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  returning  to  her  cook- 
ing from  a  brief  trip  to  the  door.  "  It's 
Pat'll  be  bringin'  home  money  the  night; 
honest  money  that  he's  earned." 

The  little  boys  appeared  impressed,  and 
on  Mike's  face  came  a  look  of  determina- 
tion that  led  his  mother  to  say,  "All  in 
good  toime,  Moike.  You're  as  willin'  as 
Pat  any  day.  I  know  that.  And  the  way 
you  look  after  the  little  b'ys,  your  father 
himsilf  couldn't  do  better." 

And  then  Pat  came  stepping  in. 

"Did  she  praise  you,  Pat ?"  cried  the 
little  woman  as  she  dished  up  the  supper. 
She  was  hungry  for  appreciation  of  her 
boy. 

"She    did    that.     She    said,    *  Patrick, 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

you're  elegant  help,  and  will  you  come 
again  next  Saturday  ?' ' 

"And  what  did  you  tell  her? " 

"  I  told  her  I  would,  and  let  that  Jim 
Barrows  keep  a  civil  tongue  in  his  head 
when  he  hears  of  it,  or  I'll  be  teaching  him 
another  lesson.  He'll  not  be  throwin'  it 
up  to  me  that  it's  girl's  work  I'm  doin'  if 
he  knows  what's  best  for  him." 

"Listen  to  me,  Pat,"  said  his  mother, 
soberly.  "I'll  be  tellin'  you  now  my 
plans  for  you  so  you'll  not  be  runnin' 
agin  'em.  It's  to  be  a  gintleman  you  are, 
and  gintlemen  don't  fight  jist  because  some 
Jim  Barrows  of  a  fellow  says  tauntin' 
words  to  'em.  You  had  to  kape  him  off 
Andy,  but  moindin'  his  impudence  to 
yoursilf  is  another  thing." 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  Pat  looked 
unconvinced  of  his  mother's  wisdom,  and 
she  went  on  soothingly,  "  But  sure  and  I 
don't  belave  he'll  be  sayin'  a  word  to  you, 
Pat.  And  anyway  you  know  how  many 
of  the  blissid  saints  and  angels  was  women 


53 


The  Widow  O'CallagharTs  Boys 

on  the  earth,  and  how  it  was  their  work 
to  kape  things  clane  and  pleasant  for  them 
they  loved.  And  that  ain't  a  work  to  be 
ashamed  of  by  girl  or  b'y." 

The  little  boys  busily  eating  had  seemed 
not  to  notice.  Only  Mike  had  looked  on 
with  interest.  But  into  all  their  hearts  had 
sunk  the  lesson  that  gentlemen  did  not 
fight. 

"Are  we  all  to  be  gintlemen  ?  "  asked 
Barney  looking  up  when  his  plate  was 
quite  empty. 

"  Ivery  wan  of  you.  What  should  your 
father's  b'ys  be  but  gintlemen  and  him  the 
best  man  as  iver  lived? " 

It  was  not  to  be  expected  that  in  any 
place  service  such  as  Pat's  would  be  will- 
ingly done  without,  least  of  all  in  Wen- 
nott.  The  more  Mrs.  Brady  thought  of 
it,  the  smaller  and  more  unsatisfactory  did 
Saturday  appear,  and  on  Friday  morning 
she  went  again  to  the  shanty. 

"And  I  hope  you're  not  come  to  say 
you've  changed  your  moind  about  wantin' 
Pat  to-morrow,"  said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan 
54 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

when  civil  greetings  had  been  exchanged 
and  Mrs.  Brady  sat  once  more  in  the 
rocker. 

"  In  one  sense  I  have  changed  my 
mind,"  answered  Mrs.  Brady  with  a  smile. 
"  I  want  Pat  to-morrow,  but  I  want  him 
all  the  other  days  of  the  week,  too." 

The  widow  was  silent.  She  had  not 
planned  so  far  as  this.  What  would  Pat 
say  ?  Would  he  do  it  ? 

"  I  will  give  him  his  board  and  lodging 
and  a  dollar  a  week  to  help  me  Saturday 
and  Sunday,  and  before  and  after  school 
the  other  days  of  the  week.  Saturday  he 
would  have  to  work  all  day,  of  course,  but 
Sunday  he  would  have  almost  nothing  to 
do,"  said  Mrs.  Brady.  "The  washing 
and  ironing  I  put  out,"  she  added  as  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  still  hesitated. 

"You're  very  koind,  ma'am,"  re- 
sponded the  widow  after  a  pause.  "  I 
hope  Pat  '11  go  to  you.  I'll  ask  him." 

"What  makes  you  think  he  might  not 
like  to  come?"  inquired  Mrs.  Brady,  anx- 
ious in  her  turn. 

55 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Well,  you  see,  ma'am,  'tis  girl's  work 
entoirely  you  want  him  to  do.  And  Pat's 
been  put  on  and  made  fun  of  almost  more 
than  he  can  bear  since  we  moved  to  Wen- 
nott.  Sure  and  them  b'ys — I'd  call  'em 
imps,  only  they're  big  for  imps,  bein'  big- 
ger and  stouter  than  Pat  himsilf — they  sets 
on  him  and  foretells  when  his  arms  is  goin' 
to  burst  through  his  sleeves  and  such  as 
that,  loike  an  almanac,  ma'am.  And  him 
a-loikin'  nice  clothes  as  well  as  any  one, 
only  he  can't  get  'em  because  it's  poor  we 
are,  ma'am.  Not  that  there's  anything 
wrong  about  that.  'Tis  the  Lord's  will 
that  it's  so,  and  we're  doin'  our  best  with 
it.  But  Pat's  young.  He  didn't  mean 
to  tell  me  of  it,  but  his  moind  bein'  full 
of  it,  it  slipped  out. 

"  Pat,  he  done  as  I  told  him,  and  come 
to  you  a-Saturday,  and  he'd  kape  on  corn- 
in'  Saturdays,  but  I  can't  tell  him  he  must 
go  out  to  service  loike  a  girl,  when  I  know 
what  thim  b'ys  will  have  in  store  for  him. 
I  must  jist  ask  him,  do  you  see?  And  what 
he'll  say,  I  can't  tell.  He's  mighty  brave. 
56 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Maybe  he'll  come.  I've  been  tellin'  him 
he's  not  to  be  lickin'  that  Jim  Barrows  if 
he  is  impudent  to  him." 

"Does  Pat  fight?"  asked  Mrs.  Brady 
doubtfully.  "He  seemed  so  amiable." 

"And  pleasant  he  is,"  cried  the  widow 
earnestly.  "  'Twas  not  for  himsilf  he 
fought,  do  you  understand.  'Twas  because 
Jim  Barrows  hurt  Andy's  feelin's  and 
struck  him  besides.  Andy's  my  third  son, 
ma'am.  He's  only  eleven,  and  not  strong 
ayther.  And  Pat,  he  loves  him  better,  I 
belave,  than  he  does  all  the  rest  of  the  b'ys 
put  together." 

"Oh!  "  said  Mrs.  Brady  with  a  relieved 
air. 

"  But  havin'  got  a  taste  of  makin'  Jim 
Barrows  kape  off  Andy  has  sort  of  got  him 
in  the  notion  of  not  takin'  nothin'  off  him, 
do  you  see  ?  But  it's  his  father  has  a  good 
influence  over  him  yet.  Tim's  in  his 
grave,  ma'am,  but  it's  meanin'  I  am  he 
shall  still  rule  his  b'ys.  And  he  does,  too." 


57 


There  was  a  certain  part  of  Wennott 
which  its  own  residents  were  wont  to  think 
was  the  part  of  town  in  which  to  live. 
Sometimes  in  confidence  they  even  con- 
gratulated themselves  over  their  own  good 
fortune  and  commiserated  the  rest  of  the 
town  who  lived  upon  the  flat  lands. 

The  rest  of  the  town  were  not  discon- 
tented in  the  least.  They  thought  north- 
east Wennott  was  a  little  far  out,  them- 
selves. And  it  was  a  good  three-quarters 
of  a  mile  from  the  public  square.  But  the 
knolls  were  not  to  be  had  any  nearer,  and 
those  who  owned  them  felt  repaid  for  the 
walk  it  took  to  reach  them.  The  places 
were  larger,  the  air  was  fresher  and  sweeter, 
and  there  was  only  one  knoll  to  rent  among 
them  all.  Beyond  the  knolls  were  the 
northeast  suburbs,  built  upon  as  flat  land 
as  any  the  town  afforded,  and  farther  on 
58 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

stretched  rolling  prairie,  picturesquely 
beautiful.  It  was  upon  one  of  the  knolls 
that  Mrs.  Brady  lived,  in  a  square  house 
of  an  old-fashioned  build,  having  a  hall 
running  through  the  center  with  rooms  on 
each  side.  It  fronted  the  west.  To  the 
left,  as  one  entered,  was  the  dining-room  ; 
to  the  right,  the  parlor,  whose  always  open 
folding  doors  made  the  pleasant  sitting- 
room  a  part  of  itself.  There  was  a  bay 
window  in  the  east  end  of  the  sitting-room, 
and  one's  first  glance  in  at  the  parlor  door 
from  the  hall  always  traveled  past  every- 
thing else  to  rest  on  the  mass  of  green 
and  blossoms  in  the  bay  window.  For 
Mrs.  Brady  was  an  expert  at  floriculture. 
Here  and  there  on  the  lawn,  not  crowded, 
but  just  where  it  seemed  natural  to  find 
them,  were  rosebushes  of  different  varie- 
ties that  waited  patiently  all  winter  for  the 
appreciation  of  their  beauty  which  summer 
was  sure  to  bring,  and  among  them  were 
some  of  the  kinds  Mrs.  Brady  had  loved 
in  the  Eastern  home  of  her  girlhood. 
One  stepped  out  from  the  south  door 

59 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

of  the  sitting-room  to  find  narrow  beds 
for  all  sorts  of  summer  blooms  hugging 
the  house,  and  looked  about  to  see  farther 
on  occasional  other  beds.  Everything 
was  represented  in  her  flower  garden,  from 
sweet  alyssum  and  mignonette  to  roses  and 
lilies,  just  as  a  little  of  all  sweet  qualities 
mingled  themselves  in  her  disposition. 
She  was  no  longer  young,  and  she  had 
come  to  be  quite  frail. 

"  I  hope  he  will  come,"  she  said  as  she 
let  herself  in  at  the  front  door. 

From  the  shanty  she  had  come  the  back 
way,  a  part  of  which  followed  the  railroad 
track,  and  the  walk  had  not  been  very 
long,  but  wearily  she  sank  down  to  rest. 

"  He's  such  a  handy  boy,"  she  thought. 
"  If  he  shouldn't  come  !  " 

And  down  at  the  shanty  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan,  as  she  washed  vigorously  for  her 
boys,  was  thinking,  too. 

"  It's  wishin'  I  am  'twas  avenin',"  she 

cried  at  last,  "  and  then  'twould  be  offmy 

moind,  so  'twould.     I  can't  tell  no  more 

than  nothin'  what  Pat'll  be  sayin'.     And 

60 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

what's  worse,  I  can't  tell  what  I  want  him 
to  be  sayin'.  'Tis  the  best  I  want  him  to 
be  doin',  but  what's  the  best?  If  he  don't 
go,  there's  a  chance  gone  of  earnin'  what 
we  need.  And  if  he  does  go,  I'll  be  at 
my  wits'  ends  to  kape  him  from  settlin' 
that  Jim  Barrows.  It's  widows  as  has  their 
trials  when  they've  sivin  b'ys  on  their 
hands,  and  all  of  'em  foine  wans  at  that." 

It  was  a  very  uncertain  day.  Cloud  fol- 
lowed sunshine,  and  a  sprinkle  of  rain  the 
cloud,  over  and  over  again. 

"  Sure  an'  the  weather  an'  me's  as  loike  as 
two  peas  the  day.  We're  nayther  of  us 
to  be  depinded  on,  so  we  ain't,  not  knowin' 
what  we  want.  Look  at  my  clothes  not 
dryin'  an'  me  a-frettin'.  What's  the  use 
of  it  all?  Let  Pat  do  as  he  will,  I'll  think 
no  more  of  it." 

The  little  woman  was  capable.  She  could 
work;  she  could  control  her  boys,  though 
sometimes,  when  it  seemed  best,  she  could 
give  control  of  them  into  their  own  hands, 
and  she  could  govern  her  thoughts  with 
some  measure  of  success.  So,  casting  her 

61 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

worries  behind  her,  she  went  about  brightly 
and  cheerily  as  if  nothing  of  an  anxious 
nature  lay  before  her,  amusing  Larry  with 
chatter  suited  to  his  years,  and  making  him 
contented  to  stay  indoors  while  she  toiled. 
For  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  was  as  young  as  her 
youngest  child,  and  as  old  as  her  oldest. 
It  was  easy  for  the  boys  to  get  close  to 
mother.  Only  once  did  her  mind  revert 
to  the  forbidden  theme.  Dinner  was  over 
and  she  stood  watching  Pat,  who  was  fast 
disappearing  on  his  way  to  school. 

"There's  toimes  to  be  spakin',  and 
toimes  to  be  kapin'  still,"  she  said.  "  Niver 
a  word  must  I  be  sayin'  till  the  rest  of  'em's 
abed,  and  it's  hard  waitin',  so  it  is.  It's 
my  belafe  that's  what  makes  some  b'ys  so 
unruly — takin'  'em  at  the  wrong  toime. 
Sure  and  b'ys  has  their  feelin's  loike  the 
rest  of  the  world.  Spake  to  'em  by  their 
lone  silves  when  you've  aught  to  say  to 
'em.  There's  niver  a  man  of  'em  all,  not 
even  Gineral  Brady  himsilf,  would  loike 
bein'  bawled  at  in  a  crowd  about  somethin' 
that  needed  thinkin'  over.  And  Gineral 
62 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Brady's  the  foine  man,  too.  Big  and 
straight  he  walks,  a-wearin'  his  plug  hat, 
and  old  and  young  is  plazed  to  meet  him. 
Well,  his  business  is  done.  There's  no 
more  foightin'.  But  he  was  a  brave 
foighter!  My  Tim  saw  him  at  it  more'n 
wanst.  Tim  was  a  long  way  behind  the 
Gineral,  but  Tim,  he  done  his  duty,  too. 
Sure  some  has  to  be  behoind,  and  if  that's 
your  place,  '  Make  that  place  respicted,' 
says  I." 

She  turned  from  the  door  and  went  back 
to  her  work. 

"  There's  some  as  thinks  the  Gineral  has 
a  business,"  she  went  on.    "There's  them 
lat  calls  him  a  banker.     But  what  sort  of 
a  business  is  that  now?     Jist  none  at  all. 
All  he  does  is  to  take  in  the  money,  and 
>ut  it  in  a  safe  place  where  nobody  won't 
steal  it,  and  hand  it  out  again  when  it's 
iceded,  and  lend  a  little  now  Ind  then  to 
somebody  that  wants  it  and  is  loikely  to  be 
)ayin'  it  back  again.     Anybody  could  do 
that.     There's  no  work  to  it.     And,  by 
the  same  token,  it's  no  business.  When  the 

63 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

war  was  over,  the  Gineral's  business  was 
done,  I  say,  and  it's  hopin'  I  am  it'll  soon 
be  evenin',  for  I'm  wantin'  to  hear  what 
Pat'll  say." 

It  was,  in  the  main,  a  quiet  supper  at 
the  shanty,  and,  for  the  most  part,  a  silent 
evening.  One  by  one  the  boys  went  to 
bed,  and  Pat  and  his  mother  were  left 
alone. 

"  Pat,"  began  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  in  a 
tremble  of  eagerness  and  apprehension, 
"who  do  you  think  was  here  the  mornin*  ?  " 

"  Sure  and  I  couldn't  guess,  mother 
dear.  You'll  have  to  be  tellin'  me." 

"  And  so  I  will,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 
"  'Twas  Mrs.  Gineral  Brady,  then.  And 
she  loikes  your  work  that  well,  Pat,  she 
wants  you  to  go  to  her  house  to  live." 

At  first  the  boy  looked  bewildered. 
Then  a  light  of  understanding  flashed 
over  his  face,  and  he  blushed  as  if  with 
shame.  To  go  out  to  service  like  a  girl ! 
He  couldn't  do  it,  and  he  wouldn't.  But 
even  in  his  fierce  young  indignation  he 
restrained  himself.  He  had  suffered  so 
64 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

much  of  late  that  he  was  growing  very 
careful  about  inflicting  suffering  upon 
others,  especially  upon  his  mother.  He 
covered  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and  sat 
quite  still  for  a  few  moments  before  he 
inquired,  "  What  did  you  tell  her  ?  " 

"I  told  her  I'd  ask  you,  Pat.  Only 
that."  The  boy  wheeled  round  in  the 
old  Windsor  chair  in  which  he  sat,  threw 
his  arms  over  the  top  of  its  back  and 
buried  his  face.  They  had  been  in  town 
now  six  weeks.  Pat  had  learned  by  his 
experience  in  cooking  how  fast  supplies 
went  in  a  large  family.  Two  weeks  be- 
fore, the  generous  contributions  of  their 
country  neighbors  had  given  entirely  out, 
and  Pat,  as  marketer,  had  learned  how 
much  money  it  took  to  buy  with.  Four 
dollars  a  week  would  not,  could  not,  sup- 
port the  family  even  in  summer  time. 
Hard  knowledge  was  this  for  a  boy  of 
fifteen  to  have,  and  hardly  had  it  been 
learned.  If  he  went,  there  was  Jim  Bar- 
rows and  his  set  with  more  jeers  and  in- 
sults which  he  must  not  avenge.  If  he 
65 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

did  not  go  —  all  at  once  he  remembered 
that  ride  home  from  Wennott  with  his 
mother,  when  he  had  asked  her  what  he 
could  do  and  what  Mike  could  do  to 
help.  Was  this  the  answer?  Was  he  to 
live  out  like  a  girl,  and  Mike  to  take  his 
place  with  the  work  at  home  ? 

He  lifted  his  face,  and  his  blue  eyes 
had  a  pleading  look  that  went  to  the  wid- 
ow's heart.  "  Mother,  tell  me  what  I 
must  do,"  he  said. 

"  I  can't,  Pat  dear.  You  must  say  for 
yoursilf." 

There  was  loving  sympathy  in  look  and 
tone,  but  the  little  woman's  determination 
was  clear.  Pat  must  decide  for  himself. 
And  the  young  head  went  down  again. 

Ten  long  minutes  went  by  before  Pat 
spoke  again,  and  his  voice  had  a  muffled 
sound,  for  his  face  was  not  lifted.  "Mother, 
are  you  willin'  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  am,  Pat,  my  son." 

Heavier  the  dreadful  prospect  pressed 
upon  him.  He  could  trust  his  mother, 
and  she  was  willing.  Then  it  must  be  right. 
66 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

More  minutes  went  by.  Pat  had  a  tell- 
tale voice.  Clear  and  musical,  it  had  ever 
revealed  to  the  mother  the  heart  of  her 
son.  And  its  sadness  and  submission 
smote  upon  her  as  he  said  at  last,  "  You 
may  tell  her  I'll  go,  mother." 

"  I  always  knowed  you  was  brave,  Pat," 
said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  Then  a  rough 
little  hand  was  laid  on  his  head  —  the 
hand  of  an  honest  washerwoman  —  and  in 
a  reverent  tone  came  the  words,  "Your 
father  was  brave." 

The  boy  looked  up  gratefully.  To  be 
likened  to  his  father  was  dear  to  him. 

"Yes,  Pat,"  went  on  Mrs.  O'Callaghan. 
"  'Most  anybody  can  take  a  noice  payin' 
job  as  suits  'em,  but  it's  the  brave  wans 
that  takes  the  work  they  don't  want  to  do 
and  does  it  good,  too." 

And  then  the  mother  who  had  the 
courage  to  battle  cheerfully  for  her  chil- 
dren, and  the  son  who  had  the  courage  to 
do  what  seemed  best  in  the  face  of  con- 
tempt and  ridicule,  went  to  their  rest. 


67 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  next  morning  Pat  stepped  out  into 
the  kitchen  and  donned  his  apron  in  a 
downcast  mood.  The  uplift  of  his  moth- 
er's praise  had  passed,  and  the  fact  re- 
mained that  to-day  he  was  to  go  out  to 
service  like  a  girl.  The  little  boys  were 
up  and  stowed  here  and  there  waiting  for 
breakfast.  Some  little  boys  cannot  be 
kept  in  bed  mornings  as  long  as  their 
elders  could  wish,  and  the  widow's  little 
boys  were  of  that  kind. 

c'Get  up,  if  you  want  to,"  was  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan's  counsel  to  her  youngest 
sons,  "  but  see  to  it  you  don't  get  under 
Pat's  feet.  Nayther  must  you  be  runnin' 
out  doors,  for  Moike  to  be  haulin'  you  in 
when  breakfast's  ready." 

These  orders  shut  the  little  fellows  into 
a  narrow  space,  and  they  were  always 
eager  for  the  morning  meal  to  be  over. 

68 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Andy  and  Jim  were  not  in  such  a  hurry 
to  rise,  having  reached  the  age  when  boys 
need  a  deal  of  persuasion  to  get  them 
up. 

"They'll  be  along  in  a  minute,"  thought 
the    widow.       "Here 
comes  Moike." 

Along  they  were  in  a 
minute,  as  their  mother 
had  predicted.    The  lit- 
tle woman  was  fond  of 
effect.  "There's  toimes 
when  it's  the  thing  to 
spake    before  'em  all," 
she  thought.      "  This  is 
wan  of  'em.      Pat  needs 
heartenin'  a  bit." 

Then  with  an  air  of 
authority  she  said:  "  Pat, 
off  with  your  apron!  " 

The  rest  were  eyes  and  ears  at  once  as 
their  mother  meant  they  should  be,  but 
Pat  only  stared  in  surprise.  Some  way  he 
felt  stupid  this  morning. 

"  Off  with  your  apron,"  repeated  Mrs. 
69 


1  Pat  donned  his  apron. " 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

O'Callaghan,  "and  sit  you  down  in  the 
father's  chair.  I  get  the  breakfast  this 
mornin'." 

With  a  shamefaced  blush  Pat  obeyed, 
amid  the  wondering  looks  of  his  brothers. 

"  You'll  be  sayin'  farewell  to  Pat  this 
mornin',"  went  on  the  widow,  her  glance 
traveling  from  one  to  another.  "  It's 
lavin'  us  he  is  to  go  to  Gineral  Brady's  to 
live.  'Tis  hard  toimes  we've  been  havin* 
and  harder's  before  us.  Pat  seen  it  and 
he's  a-goin'  to  help.  He'll  be  gettin'  his 
board  and  he'll  still  be  goin'  to  school." 

At  this  Pat  started. 

"Did  you  think  I'd  be  willin'  for  you 
to  lave  school,  my  son?"  asked  the  mother 
tenderly. 

Then  turning  to  the  rest  once  more, 
"And  it's  a  dollar  a  week  he'll  be  gettin' 
besides.  He's  his  father's  son,  and  he's  got 
a  head  older  than  his  years,  or  he'd  niver 
'a'  been  the  brave  b'y  he  is,  nor  seen  nothin' 
to  be  brave  about,  nayther.  And  he'll  be 
comin'  to  visit  us  when  Mrs.  Brady  can 
spare  him,  and  that'll  be  when  his  work's 
70 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

done,  of  course ;  and  always  he  sits  in  his 
father's  chair." 

Redder  and  redder  flushed  Pat's  cheeks, 
seeing  which  the  widow  adroitly  drew  the 
general  attention  to  her  second  son. 

"And  here's  the  chance  for  Moike,"  she 
said,  going  busily  on  with  her  work.  "  Will 
you  be  makin'  the  beds  and  kapin'  things 
shinin'  and  doin'  the  cookin'  for  us  all?" 

"You  know  I  will,  mother." 

The  little  woman  smiled.  "  Sure  and  I 
knowed  you  would.  I  jist  asked  you. 

"Now,  b'ys,  there's  what  they  call  per- 
motions.  Often  and  often  have  I  heard 
your  father  spake  of  'em.  We're  havin' 
some  of  'em  this  mornin'.  Pat,  he  goes 
to  earnin'  money  and  his  board.  That 
gives  Moike  a  chance  to  step  up  into  his 
place,  do  you  see?  That's  what  permo- 
tions  is  for,  I'm  thinkin' — to  give  the  wans 
behoind  you  a  chance.  Always  step  up 
when  you  honestly  can,  b'ys,  if  for  no  other 
reason,  to  give  the  wan  behoind  you  a 
chance.  There's  no  tellin'  what  he  can  do 
till  he  gets  a  chance,  do  you  see?  Tim,  he 
71 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

wouldn't  'a'  stayed  foightin'  a  private  if 
the  wan  ahead  of  him  had  only  done  his 
duty  and  stepped  up.  But  some  folks 
niver  does  their  duty,  and  it's  hopin'  I  am 
you'll  none  of  you  be  loike  'em.  It's  a 
noice  place  Pat's  goin'  to,  so  'tis.  There's 
a  queer  little  house  with  a  glass  roof  on 
jist  across  the  street  from  it,  and,  by  the 
same  token,  it's  a  wonder  how  they  can 
kape  a  glass  roof  on  it.  There's  them  that 
can't  even  kape  their  window  glass  in,  so 
there  is,  but  goes  a-stuffin'  up  the  holes 
with  what  they  can  get.  It's  full  of  plants, 
so  'tis,  a  sort  of  a  garden  house  where  they 
sells  flowers  for  weddin's  and  funerals  and 
such,  and  maybe  Pat'll  be  showin'  you 
through  it  some  day  when  he  gets  ac- 
quainted. I'm  told  anybody  can  see  it. 
Grane  house,  I  belave  they  calls  it,  but 
why  anybody  should  call  a  garden  house  a 
grane  house  I  can't  tell,  for  sure  and  it's 
not  a  bit  of  a  grane  idea  to  sell  flowers  if 
you  can  find  them  that  has  the  money  to 
buy  'em." 

At  this,  quiet  little  Andy,  who  was  fond 
72 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

of  his  book,  glanced  up.  "Maybe  they 
call  it  greenhouse  because  it's  full  of  green 
things,"  he  said. 

The  widow  nodded  two  or  three  times 
in  a  convinced  manner.  "To  be  sure. 
That's  the  reason,"  she  said.  "And  it's 
proud  I  am  to  have  for  my  third  son  a  b'y 
that  can  give  the  reasons  of  things.  And 
there's  another  permotion  we  was  forget- 
tin'.  Andy '11  take  Moike's  place,  so  he 
will,  and  look  after  the  little  b'ys.  A  b'y 
that  can  give  reasons  can  look  after  'em 
wonderful,  so  he  can,  if  he  don't  get  so 
full  of  his  reasons  that  he  forgets  the  little 
b'ys  entoirely.  But  Andy'll  not  be  doin' 
that.  I  niver  told  you  before,  but  your 
father's  favorite  brother  was  named  Andy, 
and  a  great  wan  he  was  for  reasons,  as  I've 
heard. 

"  Now  breakfast's  ready,  so  'tis.  I  took 
my  toime  to  it,  for  permotions  always 
takes  toime.  There's  them  that  wants  per- 
motion in  such  a  hurry  that  they  all  but 
knocks  over  the  wans  in  front  of  'em. 
And  that's  bad,  so  'tis.  And  no  way  at 

73 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

all,  nayther.  Jist  kape  yoursilf  ready  to 
step,  and  when  the  toime  comes  step  aisy 
loike  a  gintleman,  and  then  folks  rej'ices 
with  you,  instead  of  feelin'  of  their  bumps 
and  wonderin'  at  your  impudence.  And 
the  worst  of  them  koind  of  tryin's  after 
permotions  is  that  it  hurts  them  behoind 
you,  for  they're  jist  a-breathin'  aisy,  do 
you  see,  when  back  you  come  a-tumblin' 
a-top  of  'em,  and  lucky  you  are  if  you 
don't  go  past  'em,  and  land  nobody  knows 
where." 

Seldom  were  the  little  boys  so  deluged 
with  wisdom  beyond  their  power  of  com- 
prehension, but  this  was  a  special  occasion, 
and  as  the  general  effect  of  the  widow's 
remarks  was  to  stir  up  in  all  a  determina- 
tion to  do  their  best  just  where  they  were, 
her  aim  had  been  accomplished.  Pat,  in 
particular,  was  encouraged.  Perhaps  he 
was  in  line  of  promotion.  He  hoped  it 
might  come  soon. 

"  Now,  Moike,"  cried  Mrs.  O'Callaghan 
when  Pat  was  gone,  "here's  a  chance  for 
you.  It's  lucky  I  am  to  be  at  home  the 

74 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

day.  I'll  be  teachin'  you  a  bit  of  all 
sorts,  so  I  will,  for  you've  everything  to 
larn,  Moike,  and  that's  the  truth,  ban-in' 
the  lay  of  the  tracks,  and  the  switches, 
and  the  empty  cars  a-standin'  about,  and 
how  to  kape  the  little  b'ys  from  hurtin' 
thimsilves." 

Mike  looked  rather  disheartened. 

"You  niver  let  'em  get  hurted  wanst, 
did  you,  Moike  ?  And  that's  doin'  well, 
too.  I  hope  Andy'll  be  comin'  up  to  you 
in  that." 

So  encouragingly  did  his  mother  smile 
upon  him  as  she  said  these  last  words  that 
he  visibly  brightened.  He  was  not  tall 
and  slender  like  Pat,  but  rather  short  and 
of  a  sturdy  build.  And  he  tied  on  his 
apron  with  determination  in  his  eye. 

"  Do  you  know  what  you  look  loike, 
Moike?" 

The  boy  glanced  at  her  inquiringly. 

"You  look  loike  you  was  goin'  to  make 
short  work  of  your  larnin'  and  come  up 
to  Pat  before  you  know  it.  I  niver  knowed 
a  b'y  to  get  the  worst  of  it  that  looked  that 

75 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

way  out  of  his  eye.  It's  a  sort  of  cdo  it 
I  will,  and  let  them  stop  me  that  can' 
look,  Moike  dear.  Not  that  anybody 
wants  to  stop  you,  and  it's  an  ilegant 
look,  too,  as  I've  often  seen  on  your 
father's  face  when  he  had  a  hard  job  ahead 
of  him." 

By  this  time  Mike  was  ready  for  any- 
thing. He  really  knew  more  than  his 
mother  gave  him  credit  for,  having  fur- 
tively watched  Pat  more  than  once. 

"Well,  well,  Moike!"  exclaimed  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  when  the  last  bed  was  made. 
"That's  a  sight  better  as  Pat's  first  try  at 
bed-makin'.  If  he  was  here  he'd  say  that 
wasn't  so  bad  nayther,  and  it's  yoursilf  as 
knows  Pat's  an  ilegant  bed-maker.  If 
you'd  seen  him  astonishin'  Mrs.  Gineral 
Brady  you'd  'a'  seen  a  sight  now.  I  was 
proud  that  day." 

Mike  smiled  with  satisfaction  and 
reached  for  the  broom.  His  mother  said 
nothing,  but  not  a  move  escaped  her  crit- 
ical eye.  As  far  as  the  beds  could  be 
moved,  they  were  moved,  and  around  them 
76 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

and  under  them  went  Mike's  busy  broom. 
Mike  was  warm-blooded,  and  it  was  a 
pretty  red-faced  boy  that  stood  at  last  be- 
fore his  mother  with  the  dustpan  in  his 
hand.  There  was  strong  approval  on  the 
little  woman's  face. 

"Pat  himsilf  couldn't  'a'  beat  that.  It's 
my  belafe  you've  got  a  gift  for  swapin'," 
she  said.  "  I  can  leave  home  to  go  to  my 
washin'  with  an  aisy  mind,  I  see,  and  with 
no  fears  of  chance  callers  foindin'  dirty 
floors  and  mussy-lookin'  beds  a-disgracin' 
me.  If  widows  is  iver  lucky,  which  I 
doubt,  Moike,  I'm  lucky  this  far.  I've 
got  some  wonderful  foine  sons,  so  I 
have." 

Mike,  at  this,  beamed  with  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  one  of  the  sons  and  a 
fully  appreciated  one,  too.  A  long  time 
he  had  stood  in  the  shadow  of  Pat's 
achievements.  This  morning  he  was  show- 
ing what  he  could  do. 

"  This  permotion  is  pretty  foine,"  said 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  "  Moike,  my  b'y, 
you  have  stepped  up  aisy  loike  a  gintle- 

77 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

man  into  Pat's   place,  and  now  let's  see 
you  cook." 

Mike  looked  crestfallen  at  once.  "  I 
can't  cook,  mother,"  he  said.  "  Not  the 
least  in  the  world.  Often  and  often  I've 
watched  Pat,  but  I  never  could  get  the 
hang  of  it." 

The  widow  was  silent  a  moment. 

"Well,  then!"  she  cried,  "you've  got 
the  hang  of  bein'  an  honest  b'y,  and  not 
pretindin'  to  do  what  you  can't  do,  and 
that's  better  as  bein'  the  best  cook  in  the 
world.  Niver  do  you  pretind,  Moike,  not 
because  there's  always  somebody  about  to 
foind  you  out,  but  because  pretindin's 
mean.  I'd  have  no  pride  left  in  me  if  I 
could  think  I  had  a  pretindin'  b'y  about 
the  house.  And  now,  Moike,  I'll  teach 
you  to  cook.  It's  my  belafe  you  can  larn 
it.  Why,  Pat  didn't  know  nothin'  about 
it  when  he  begun,  and  now  he  can  cook 
meat  and  potatoes  and  such  better  as  many 
a  doless  girl  I've  seen.  You  think  Pat's 
cookin'  tastes  pretty  good,  don't  you, 
Moike?" 

78 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  I  do,  mother,"  said  Mike  earnestly 
and  without  a  tinge  of  jealousy  in  his  tone. 
He  loved  and  admired  Pat  with  all  his 
heart. 

"  You  can  larn  it,  too,  if  you  only  think 
so,"  encouraged  Mrs.  O'Callaghan. 

"  There's  them  that  think's  that  cookin's 
a  special  gift,  and  they're  right,  too.  But 
there's  things  about  cookin'  that  anybody 
can  attind  to,  such  as  havin'  kettles  and 
pans  clean,  and  kapin'  the  fire  up  when  it's 
needed,  and  not  roastin'  a  body's  brains 
out  when  it  ain't  needed.  Yes,  and  there's 
other  things,"  she  continued  with  increas- 
ing earnestness.  "  There's  them  as  thinks 
if  they've  a  book  or  paper  stuck  about 
handy,  and  them  a-poppin'  down  to  read 
a  bit  ivery  now  and  then,  it  shows  that 
cookin's  beneath  'em.  And  then  the  meat 
burns  or  it  sogs  and  gets  tough,  the  pota- 
toes don't  get  the  water  poured  off  of  'em 
in  toime,  and  things  biles  over  on  the  stove 
or  don't  bile  at  all,  at  all,  and  what  does  all 
that  show,  Moike  ?  Not  that  they're  above 
cookin',  but  that  they're  lackin'  in  sinse. 
79 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

For  a  sinsible  person  always  pays  attintion 
to  what  they're  at,  but  a  silly  is  lookin'  all 
ways  but  the  right  wan,  and  ten  to  wan 
but  if  you  looked  inside  their  skulls  you'd 
foind  'em  that  empty  it  would  astonish 
you.  Not  that  I'm  down  on  readin',  but 
that  readin'  and  cookin'  hadn't  ought  to 
be  mixed.  Now,  Moike,  if  any  of  these 
things  I've  been  tellin'  you  of  happens  to 
your  cookin',  you'll  know  where  to  put 
the  blame.  Don't  say,  fl  wasn't  made  to 
cook,  I  guess  '.  That's  what  I  wanst  heard 
a  silly  say  when  she'd  burnt  the  dinner. 
But  jist  understand  that  your  wits  must 
have  been  off  a  piece,  and  kape  'em  by 
you  nixt  toime.  But  what's  that  n'ise  ?  " 

She  stepped  to  the  door.  A  short  dis- 
tance off  Jim  was  trying  to  get  something 
away  from  Barney,  who  was  making  up  in 
roars  what  he  lacked  in  strength.  Up 
went  Mrs.  O'Callaghan's  hands  to  curve 
around  her  mouth  and  form  a  speaking 
trumpet. 

"  Jim,  come  here  !  "  she  called. 

Jim  began  to  obey,  and  his  mother, 
80 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

leaving  Mike  inside  to  think  over  her  re- 
marks on  cooking,  stood  waiting  for  his 
lagging  feet. 

"  Well,  Jim,"  she  said  when  he  stood 
before  her,  "  it's  ashamed  of  you  I  am, 
and  that's  the  truth.  A  big  b'y  loike  you, 
noine  years  old,  a-snatchin'  something  from 
little  Barney  and  him  only  sivin!  It's 
my  belafe  your  father  niver  snatched 
nothin'  from  nobody." 

At  this  Jim's  countenance  fell,  for,  in 
common  with  all  his  brothers,  he  shared  a 
strong  desire  to  be  like  his  father. 

"  You  may  go  now,  but  remember 
you'll  be  takin'  Andy's  place  some  day, 
a-carin'  for  the  little  wans." 

The  idea  of  taking  Andy's  place,  even 
at  so  indefinite  a  period  as  sometime,  quite 
took  the  edge  off  his  mother's  rebuke,  and 
Jim  went  stepping  off  with  great  impor- 
tance. 

"  Jim !  "  she  called  again,  and  the  boy 
came  back. 

"That's  a  terrible  swagger  you've  got 
on  you,  Jim.  Walk  natural.  Your  father 
81 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

was  niver  wan  of  the  swaggerin'  sort. 
And  jist  remember  that  takin'  care  of  the 
little  b'ys  ain't  lordin'  it  over  'em 
nayther." 


82 


CHAPTER  VII 

"  If  I'm  goin',  I  may  as  well  go," 
thought  Pat  as  he  left  his  mother's  door 
on  that  mid-April  Saturday  morning. 
And  away  he  went  on  the  railroad  track 
at  a  rapid  pace  that  did  not  give  him  much 
time  to  think. 

It  was  the  General  himself  who  an- 
swered his  knock  that  had  a  strange  mix- 
ture of  the  bold  and  the  timid.  The 
General  had  been  listening  for  that  knock. 
He  had  been  wondering  what  sort  of  a 
boy  it  was  who  was  willing  to  go  out  by 
the  day  to  do  housework.  The  knock 
told  him.  "  He  hates  to  come,  but  he 
comes,  nevertheless,"  thought  the  General. 
And  he  arose  and  opened  the  door. 

He  looked  into  the  boy's  face  and  he 
saw  a  determined  mouth  and  pleading 
eyes. 

83 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Grit,"  thought  the  General.  But  he 
only  said,  "  Come  in,  my  boy." 

"  Yes,  sir,  if  you  please,  sir,  will  you 
be  tellin'  Mrs.  General  Brady  that  I'm 
here,  sir?"  was  Pat's  answer  as,  with 
flushing  cheeks,  he  stepped  awkwardly 
into  the  room.  What  a  fine  soldierly 
bearing  the  General  had,  and  how  he  must 
despise  a  boy  who  could  turn  himself  into 
a  girl ! 

"Sit  down,  Pat,"  said  the  General 
pleasantly.  "That's  your  name,  isn't  it? 
I'll  tell  Mrs.  Brady  presently." 

Pat  sat  down.  He  could  not  imagine 
the  General  with  an  apron  on  doing  house- 
work, though  that  was  what  he  was  trying 
to  do  while  he  sat  there  with  cheeks  that 
grew  redder  and  more  red. 

"  Mrs.  Brady  tells  me  you  are  excellent 
help,  Pat,"  went  on  the  General. 

"Yes,  sir,"  stammered  Pat. 

"  Have  you  come  to  stay,  or  just  for 
the  day?" 

The  boy's  eyes  were  almost  beseeching 
as  he  answered,  "I've  come  to  stay,  sir." 
84 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

What  would  the  General  think  of  him 
now  ? 

"I  suppose  you  like  housework,  then?" 

"  No,  sir,"  came  the  answer  in  a  low 
tone.  "But  father's  gone,  and  there's 
mother  and  the  boys  and  there's  no  work 
for  boys  in  Wennott  unless  they  turn 
themselves  into  girls." 

"  Better  turn  into  a  girl  than  into  a 
tougli  from  loafing  on  the  streets,  Pat," 
said  the  General  heartily,  as  he  rose  from 
his  chair.  "I'll  tell  Mrs.  Brady  you  are 
here." 

There  was  not  so  much  in  what  the 
genial  master  of  the  house  had  said,  but 
Pat's  head  lifted  a  little.  Perhaps  the 
General  did  not  despise  him  after  all. 

"  I've  good  news  for  you,  Fannie,"  said 
the  General  as  he  entered  the  dining-room. 
"  Your  boy  has  come,  and  come  to  stay." 

"Oh,  has  he?  I'm  so  glad."  And  she 
smiled  her  pleasure.  "  He's  such  a  nice 
boy." 

"  He's  a  brave  boy,"  said  her  husband 
with  emphasis.  "That  boy  has  the  grit 
85 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

of  a  hero.  He  may  come  into  our  kitchen 
for  a  time,  but,  please  God,  he  shan't  stay 
there.  I  know  what  he  will  have  to  take 
from  those  street  boys  for  doing  the  best 
he  can  for  his  mother  and  younger  broth- 


"  'I've  good  news  for  you,  Fannie,'  said  the  General." 

ers  and  he  knows  it,  too.  I  saw  it  in  his 
face  just  now.  The  boy  that  has  the  moral 
courage  to  face  insult  and  abuse  deserves 
to  rise,  and  he  shall  rise.  But,  bless  me ! 
I'm  getting  rather  excited  over  it,  I  see." 
And  he  smiled. 

"  Perhaps,  Tom,  you  could  shield  him 

86 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

a  little  in  the  street,"  suggested  Mrs. 
Brady. 

"I'll  do  my  best,  my  dear."  And  then 
the  General  went  away  to  his  bank,  and 
Mrs.  Brady  went  into  the  kitchen  to  see 
Pat. 

Pat  was  sensitive.  There  was  some- 
thing in  the  General's  manner  as  he  left 
him,  something  in  Mrs.  Brady's  tones  as 
she  directed  him,  that  restored  his  self- 
respect. 

"  If  only  I  never  had  to  be  goin'  on  the 
street  till  after  dark,  'twouldn't  be  so  bad," 
thought  Pat.  "  But  there's  school,  and 
there's  Jim  Barrows.  I'll  just  have  to 
stand  it,  that's  what  I  will.  Mother  says 
I'm  brave,  but  it's  not  very  brave  inside 
I'm  feelin'.  I'd  run  if  I  could." 

But  Pat  was  to  learn  some  day,  and 
learn  it  from  the  General's  lips,  that  the 
very  bravest  men  have  been  men  who 
wanted  to  run  and  wouldn't. 

At  General  Brady's  there  was  light  lunch 
at  noon  and  dinner  at  five,  which  was 
something  Pat  had  already  become  accus- 
87 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

tomed  to  from  having  to  do  his  own  fam- 
ily cooking  for  the  last  six  weeks.  He  was 
pretty  well  used  to  hurrying  home  the  mo- 
ment the  afternoon  session  of  school  was 
over  to  prepare  the  meal  of  the  day  for  his 
hungry  brothers  and  his  tired  mother.  On 
Monday,  therefore,  he  came  flying  into 
the  Brady  kitchen  at  fifteen  minutes  of 
five.  There  was  the  dinner  cooking,  with 
no  one  to  watch  it.  Where  was  Mrs. 
Brady  ?  Pat  did  not  stop  to  inquire.  His 
own  experience  told  him  that  that  dinner 
needed  immediate  attention. 

Down  went  his  books.  He  flew  to  wash 
his  hands  and  put  on  his  apron.  He  turned 
the  water  off  the  potatoes  in  a  jiffy.  "  Sure 
and  I  just  saved  'em,  and  that's  all!"  he 
cried,  as  he  put  them  to  steam  dry. 

"I'll  peep  in  the  oven,  so  I  will,"  he 
said.  "  That  roast  needs  bastin',  so  it 
does." 

He  heard  the  General  come  in. 

"  There's  a  puddin'  in  the  warm  oven," 
he  continued,  "but  I  don't  know  nothin' 
about  that.  It's  long  since  we've  had  pud- 

88 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

din'  at  home.  I'll  just  dress  the  potatoes 
and  whip  'em  up  light.  I  can  do  that  any- 
way, and  give  the  roast  another  baste.  It's 
done,  and  I'll  be  settin'  it  in  the  warm  oven 
along  with  the  puddin'.  For  how  do  I 
know  how  Mrs.  Brady  wants  her  gravy  ? 
Where  is  she,  I  wonder?" 

"  Why,  Pat,"  said  a  surprised  voice, 
"  can  you  cook  ?  " 

"  Not  much,  ma'am,"  answered  Pat  with 
a  blush.  "  But  I  can  sometimes  keep  other 
people's  cookin'  from  spoilin'." 

"  Well  said ! "  cried  the  General,  who  was 
determined  to  make  Pat  feel  at  ease. 
"  Fannie,  give  me  an  apron,  and  I'll  make 
the  gravy.  I  used  to  be  a  famous  hand  at 
it  in  the  army." 

Pat  stared,  and  then  such  a  happy  look 
came  into  his  eyes  that  the  General  felt  a 
little  moisture  in  his  own. 

"  How  that  boy  has  been  suffering!  "  he 
said  to  himself. 

<c  I  was  detained  by  a  caller,"  explained 
Mrs.  Brady.  "  The  dinner  would  surely 


89 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

have  been  spoiled  if  Pat  had  not  come 
just  when  he  did." 

And  then  Pat's  cup  was  full.  He 
blushed,  he  beamed.  Here  was  the  Gen- 
eral, the  man  whom  his  mother  had  held 
up  to  Pat's  admiration,  with  an  apron  on, 
cooking!  And  Mrs.  Brady  said  that  he 
had  saved  the  dinner. 

"  Let  Jim  Barrows  say  what  he  likes," 
he  thought.  "I'd  not  like  to  be  eatin'  any 
of  his  cookin'." 

Cooking  had  risen  in  Pat's  estimation. 

"She  asked  me,  'Will  you  please  not 
be  nickin'  or  crackin'  the  dishes,  Pat  ? ' 
And  says  I,  'I'll  be  careful,  Mrs.  Brady.' 
But  I  wonder  what  makes  'em  have  these 
thin  sort  of  dishes.  I  never  seen  none 
like  'em  nowhere  else." 

Dinner  was  over  and  Pat  was  alone  in 
the  kitchen. 

"  But  the  General  makin'  the  gravy  was 
fine,  and  sure  I  never  tasted  no  better 
gravy  neither.  I  wish  I  could  just  be 
lettin'  'em  know  at  home.  Mike  will 
have  to  be  turnin'  into  a  girl,  too,  one  of 
90 


The  General  makes  the  gravy. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

these  days,  and  it  might  ease  him  a  bit  if 
he  could  know  the  General  wasn't  above 
cookin'.  My  mother  said  I'd  be  comin' 
to  visit  'em  when  my  work  was  done,  if 
Mrs.  Brady  could  spare  me." 

A  half-hour  later  a  trim-looking  boy 
presented  himself  at  the  sitting-room  door. 

"  Come  in,  Pat,"  invited  the  General, 
looking  up  from  his  paper  with  a  smile. 

Pat  smiled  back  again,  but  it  was  to 
Mrs.  Brady  that  he  turned  as  he  entered 
the  room. 

"  Mrs.  Brady,  ma'am,"  he  said,  "  the 
dishes  are  done  and  the  kitchen  made  neat. 
Will  you  have  me  to  be  doin'  something 
more  for  you  this  evenin'  ?  " 

"  No,  Pat,"  replied  Mrs.  Brady  kindly. 
"  Your  work,  for  to-day,  is  done.  You 
may  take  off  your  apron." 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Would  you  kindly  be 
lettin'  me  go  home  a  little  while  then  ?  " 

Pat's  look  was  eager  but  submissive. 

"  Certainly,  Pat,"  was  the  reply.  "Take 
the  kitchen  key  with  you." 

"Thank  you,  kindly,  ma'am,"  returned 
93 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Pat  gratefully.  And  with  another  smile 
for  the  General,  who  had  not  resumed  his 
reading,  the  boy  left  the  room,  and,  shortly 
after,  the  house. 

"  Listen !  "  cried  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  with 
uplifted  ringer.  And  the  rollicking  talk 
about  her  ceased  on  the  instant. 

"'Tis  Pat's  step  I  hear  outside,  and 
here  he  is,  sure  enough.  Now,  b'ys,  don't 
all  of  you  be  on  him  at  wanst.  Let  him 
sit  down  in  the  father's  chair." 

Pat,  feeling  the  honor  paid  him,  and 
showing  that  he  felt  it,  sat  down.  The 
little  boys  crowded  around  him  with  their 
news.  Jim  and  Andy  got  as  near  to  him 
as  they  could  for  furniture,  while  Mike 
looked  at  him  from  the  farther  side  of  the 
tiny  room  with  a  heart  full  of  love  and 
admiration  in  his  eyes.  They  had  not 
seen  Pat  since  Saturday  morning  except 
at  school  that  day,  and  that  was  not  like 
having  him  at  home  with  them. 

"  And  how  does  your  work  come  on  ?  " 
asked  his  mother  as  soon  as  she  could  get 
in  a  word. 

94 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Fine,"  said  Pat.  "  'Tis  an  elegant 
place. "  Then,  with  an  air  that  tried  hard 
to  be  natural,  he  added,  "  The  General 
himself  made  the  gravy  to-day." 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  his  mother.  "The 
Gineral  !  " 

"  He  did,"  said  Pat.  "  He  put  on  one 
of  Mrs.  Brady's  aprons,  and  'twas  fine 
gravy,  too." 

The  widow  looked  her  astonishment. 
"And  do  you  call  that  foine?"  she  de- 
manded at  last.  "  The  Gineral  havin'  to 
make  his  own  gravy?  What  was  you 
a-doin',  Pat  ?  " 

"  I  was  helpin'  Mrs.  Brady  with  the 
puddin'  sauce  and  dishin'  up.  'Twas  be- 
hind we  all  was,  owin'  to  a  caller,  and  Mrs. 
Brady  said  if  it  hadn't  been  for  me  the 
dinner  would  have  been  spoiled  sure.  I 
got  there  just  in  time." 

"  The  Gineral,"  said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan, 
looking  about  her  impressively,  "is  the 
handsomest  and  the  foinest  gintleman  in 
the  town.  Iverybody  says  so.  And  the 
Gineral  ain't  above  puttin'  an  apron  on 
95 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

him  and  makin'  gravy.  Let  that  be  a 
lesson  to  you  all.  The  war's  over.  You'll 
none  of  you  iver  be  ginerals.  But  you 
can  all  make  gravy,  so  you  can." 

"  When,  mother,  when  ?  "  asked  Barney 
and  Tommie  eagerly,  who  saw  at  once  that 
gravy  would  be  a  great  improvement  on 
mud  pies,  their  only  culinary  accomplish- 
ment at  present. 

"When?"  repeated  the  widow.  "All 
in  good  toime,  to  be  sure.  Pat  will  be 
givin'  Moike  the  Gineral's  receipt,  and  the 
b'y  that  steps  into  Moike's  place — and 
that'll  be  Andy,  I'mthinkin' — he'll  larn  it 
of  Moike,  and  so  on,  do  you  see?  " 

"  And  I  was  just  thinkin',"  put  in  Pat, 
with  an  encouraging  glance  at  Mike,  "  that 
Jim  Barrows's  cookin'  was  like  to  be  poor 
eatin'." 

"  True  for  you,  my  b'y  !  "  exclaimed  the 
widow.  "The  idea  of  that  Jim  Barrows 
a-cookin'  niver  struck  me  before.  But, 
as  you  say,  no  doubt  'twould  be  poor. 
Them  that's  not  above  nignaggin'  the  un- 
fortunate is  apt  to  be  thinkin'  themsilves 
96 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

above  cookin',  and  if  they  tried  it  wanst, 
no  doubt  their  gravy  would  be  a  mixture 
of  hot  water  and  scorch,  with,  like  enough, 
too  little  salt  in  it  if  it  didn't  have  too 
much,  and  full  of  lumps  besides.  'Tis 
your  brave  foightin'  men  and  iligant  gin- 
tlemen  loike  the  Gineral  that  makes  the 
good  gravy." 


97 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"  Pat,  I  forgot  to  give  Mr.  Brady  the 
list  of  things  that  I  want  sent  up  this 
morning." 

Pat  looked  up  from  his  dishwashing 
sympathetically,  for  there  was  perplexity 
in  the  kindly  tone  and  on  the  face  no  longer 
young. 

It  was  always  a  mystery  to  the  boy  why 
Mrs.  Brady  called  her  husband  "  Mr. 
Brady"  when  everybody  else  said  General 
Brady. 

"But  it's  none  of  my  business,  of 
course,"  he  told  himself. 

It  was  Saturday  morning. 

"  Do  you  think  you  could  go  down,  Pat, 
when  the  dishes  are  finished  ?  " 

"Indeed,  and  I  can  that,  ma'am,"  re- 
turned Pat  heartily. 

"Do  so,  then,"  was  the  reply.  And 
98 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mrs.  Brady  walked  away  with  a  relieved 
air. 

"  I'm  ready,  ma'am,"  announced  Pat, 
coming  to  the  sitting-room  door  a  little 
later.  "  Will  you  be  havin'  me  to  take  the 
list  to  General  Brady,  or  will  you  be  havin' 
me  to  be  doin'  the  buyin'  myself? " 

Mrs.  Brady  thought  a  moment.  Her 
husband  very  much  disliked  marketing.  If 
Pat  should  prove  as  capable  in  that  direc- 
tion as  in  every  other,  the  General  would 
be  saved  what  was  to  him  a  disagreeable 
task.  She  resolved  to  try  him.  So  she 
said,  "You  may  do  the  buying  yourself, 
Pat." 

"  Thank  you  kindly,  ma'am,"  answered 
Pat  respectfully. 

"  Do  you  like  to  buy  things  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Brady,  surprised  at  the  expression  of 
anticipated  pleasure  on  the  boy's  face. 

"  I  don't  like  nothin'  better,  ma'am. 
'Twas  but  a  taste  I'd  got  of  it  before  I 
left  home.  Mike  does  our  buyin'  now. 
Buyin's  next  best  to  sellin',  we  both  think." 

He  took  the  list  Mrs.  Brady  held  out 

99 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

and  ran  his  eye  over  it.  "I'll  be  takin'  my 
basket  and  bring  the  little  things  home  my- 
self," he  said.  "Would  you  believe  it, 
ma'am,  some  of  them  delivery  boys  is 
snoopy,  I've  been  told.  Not  all  of  'em, 
of  course,  but  some  of  'em  just.  Now 
raisins,  you've  got  here.  c  Raisins  is  mighty 
good,  but  let  'em  buy  their  own,'  says  I. 
And  don't  you  be  doin'  nothin'  but  restin', 
ma'am,  while  I'm  gone.  If  I'm  off  en- 
joyin'  myself  'tain't  fair  as  you  should  be 
up  here  a-workin'.  There's  not  much  to 
be  done  anyway,  but  I'll  get  through  with 
it,"  he  ended  with  a  smile. 

Away  went  Pat,  stepping  jauntily  with 
his  basket  on  his  arm.  It  was  the  first  of 
June,  and  Wennott,  embowered  in  trees, 
was  beautiful.  He  had  almost  reached  the 
square  before  he  thought,  "  She  never  told 
me  where  to  go.  I  can't  be  wastin'  my 
time  goin'  back.  I'll  just  step  into  the 
bank  and  ask  the  General." 

Pat  loved  the  General.  A  woman's 
apron  was  the  bond  that  bound  the  poor 
Irish  boy  to  the  fine  old  soldier,  and  it 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

was  with  the  smile  that  the  boy  kept  ex- 
clusively for  him  that  he  stepped  in  at  the 
open  door  of  the  bank. 

The  General  was  engaged,  but  he  found 
time  to  answer  the  smile  and  to  say  in  his 
most  genial  tone,  "In  a  moment,  Pat." 

He  was  soon  at  liberty,  and  then  he 
said,  "Now,  Pat,  what  is  it?" 

"  Please,  sir,  have  you  any  one  place 
where  you  want  me  to  be  tradin',  or  am  I 
to  buy  where  the  goods  suit  me?" 

"Are  you  doing  the  marketing  to-day, 
Pat?" 

"  Yes,  sir.   Mrs.  Brady  give  me  leave." 

"And  what  is  your  own  idea  about 
trading  ? " 

"  Buy  where  you  can  do  the  best  for  the 
money,  sir,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

The  banker  looked  at  him  thoughtfully. 
He  had  the  key  to  Pat's  future  now.  He 
knew  along  what  line  to  push  him,  for  he 
was  determined  to  push  Pat.  And  then  he 
said,  "Buy  where  you  think  best.  But  did 
Mrs.  Brady  give  you  money?" 

"She  did,  sir.     This   creditin'   is  poor 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

business.  Show  'em  your  money,  and 
they'll  do  better  by  you  every  time." 

The  General  listened  in  so  interested  a 
manner  that  Pat  added,  "It's  because  the 
storemen  can  get  all  the  creditin'  they 
want  to  do  and  more,  too,  but  them  as 
steps  up  with  the  cash,  them's  the  ones 
they're  after." 

"And  who  taught  you  this,  Pat?" 

"Sure  and  my  mother  told  me  part  of 
it,  and  part  of  it  I  just  picked  up.  But 
I'll  be  goin'  now,  or  Mrs.  Brady  will  think 
I'm  never  comin'.  She'll  be  teachin'  me 
to-day  to  make  a  fine  puddin'  for  your 
dinner." 

The  first  store  Pat  went  into  had  already 
several  customers.  As  he  entered,  the 
clerks  saw  a  tall  boy  wearing  a  blouse  shirt 
and  cottonade  trousers,  and  having  on  his 
head  a  broad-brimmed  straw  hat  well  set 
back.  And  they  seemed  not  at  all  inter- 
ested in  him.  The  basket  on  his  arm  was 
also  against  him.  "  Some  greeny  that  wants 
a  nickel's  worth  of  beans,  I  suppose,"  said 
one. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

But  if  the  clerks  seemed  to  make  little 
of  Pat,  Pat,  for  his  part,  regarded  them 
with  indifference.  The  sight  of  the  Gen- 
eral making  gravy  had  changed  the  boy's 
whole  outlook;  and  he  had  come  to  feel 
that  whoever  concerned  himself  with  Pat 
O'Callaghan's  business  was  out  of  his 
province.  Pat  was  growing  independent. 

Other  customers  came  in  and  were 
waited  upon  out  of  their  turn  while  Pat 
was  left  unnoticed. 

"  That's  no  way  to  do  business,"  he 
thought,  "but  if  they  can  stand  it,  I  can." 
And  he  looked  about  him  with  a  critical 
air.  He  was  not  going  off  in  a  huff,  and 
perhaps  missing  the  chance  of  buying  to 
advantage  for  the  General.  At  last  a  clerk 
drew  near — a  smallish,  dapper  young  fel- 
low of  about  twenty. 

"I'll  be  lookin'  at  raisins,"  said  Pat. 

"How  many'll  you  have?"  asked  the 
clerk,  stepping  down  the  store  on  the  inside 
of  the  counter,  while  Pat  followed  on  the 
outside. 

"I  said  I'd  be  lookin'  at  'em,"  answered 
103 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Pat.     "  I  don't  want  none  of  'em  if  they 
don't  suit." 

The  clerk  glanced  at  him  a  little  sharply, 
and  then  handed  out  a  sample  bunch  of  a 
poor  quality. 

Pat  did  not  offer  to  touch  them. 

"They'll  not  do,"  he  said.  "  Have  you 
no  better  ones  ?  I  want  to  see  the  best  ones 
you've  got." 

"  What's  the  matter  with  these  ? "  asked 
the  clerk  quickly. 

"And  how  can  I  tell  what's  the  matter 
with  'em  ?  They're  not  the  kind  for  Gen- 
eral Brady,  and  that  you  know  as  well 
as  I." 

At  mention  of  the  General's  name  the 
clerk  pricked  up  his  ears.  It  would  be 
greatly  to  his  credit  if,  through  him,  their 
house  should  catch  General  Brady's  trade. 
He  became  deferential  at  once.  But  he 
might  as  well  have  spared  his  pains.  No 
one,  with  Pat  as  buyer,  would  be  able  to 
catch  or  to  keep  the  General's  trade.  Who- 
ever offered  the  best  for  the  money  would 
sell  to  him. 

104 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

The  boy  had  the  same  experience  in 
every  store  he  entered,  as  he  went  about 
picking  up  one  article  here  and  another 
there  till  all  were  checked  off  his  list. 

"There's  more'n  me  thinks  the  General's 
a  fine  man,"  he  thought  as  he  went  home. 
"  There  didn't  nobody  care  about  sellin' 
to  me,  but  they  was  all  after  the  General's 
trade,  so  they  was.  And  now  I  must 
hurry,  for  my  work's  a-waitin'  for  me,  and 
the  puddin'  to  be  learnin'  besides.  Would 
I  be  goin'  back  to  live  off  my  mother  now, 
and  her  a-washin'  to  keep  me  ?  Indeed 
and  I  wouldn't.  The  meanest  thing  a 
boy  can  be  doin',  I  believe,  is  to  be  lettin' 
his  mother  keep  him  if  he  can  get  a  bit  of 
work  of  any  sort." 

With  his  mother's  shrewd  counsel  back- 
ing him  up,  and  with  the  General  con- 
stantly before  him  to  be  admired  and  imi- 
tated, Pat  was  developing  a  manly  spirit. 
When  he  went  to  live  with  Mrs.  Brady, 
he  had  offered  his  mother  the  dollar  a 
week  he  was  to  receive  as  wages. 


105 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Sure  and  I'll  not  be  takin'  it,  Pat," 
said  the  little  woman  decidedly. 

To-night  he  had  come 
home  again,  and  this  time 
he  had  brought  three  dollars 
with  him. 

"1    told  you   I'd  not  be 
takin'   it,  Pat,   and  I  won't 
nayther."  Though  the  widow 
would   not   touch   the   coin, 
she  looked  lovingly  at  her 
son   and   went    on,    "  It's 
ginerous    you    are,    loike 
your    father,    but    you're 
helpin'  me  enough  when  you 
take  your  board  off  my  hands. 
You  must  save  your  money 
to  buy  clothes  for  yoursilf,  for 
you  need  'em,  Pat  dear.    Mrs. 
Brady  can't  be  puttin'  up  with 
too    badly    dressed    help. 

Pat  doing  the  marketing.  N°W  d°n>t  7OU  be  Spakin' 

yet,"  she  continued,  as  she 
saw  him  about  to  remonstrate.  "It's  a 
skame  of  my  own  I've  got  that  I  want  to 

106 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

be  tellin'  you  about,  for  it's  a  comfort  you 
are  to  me,  Pat.  Many's  the  mother  as 
can't  say  that  to  her  oldest  son,  and  all  on 
account  of  the  son  bein'  anything  but  a 
comfort,  do  you  see?  But  I  can  say  it, 
Pat,  and  mean  it,  too.  A  comfort  you  are 
to  me." 

Pat  smiled  as  he  listened. 

"  Do  you  know,  Pat,"  pursued  his 
mother  earnestly,  "as  I'm  goin'  to  my 
washin'  places,  I  goes  and  comes  different 
ways  whiniver  I  can,  for  what's  the  use  of 
always  goin'  the  same  way  loike  a  horse 
in  a  treadmill  when  you  don't  have  to  ? 
Course,  if  you  have  to,  that's  different. 

"  Well,  Pat,  sure  there's  an  awful  lot  of 
cows  kept  in  this  town.  And  I've  found 
out  that  most  of  'em  is  put  out  to  pasture 
in  Jansen's  pasture  north  of  the  railroad. 
It  runs  north  'most  to  the  cemetery,  I'm 
told.  But  what  of  that  when  the  gate's 
at  this  end?  You  don't  have  to  drive  the 
cows  no  further  than  the  gate,  Pat,  dear. 
And  the  gate  you  almost  passes  when 
you're  goin'  to  Gineral  Brady's  by  the 
107 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

back  way  up  the  track.  It's  not  far  from 
us,  by  no  manes." 

Pat's  face  expressed  surprise.  Did  his 
mother  want  him  to  drive  cows  in  addition 
to  his  other  work? 

"Now  all  these  cows,  Pat,"  continued 
his  mother  impressively,  "belongs  wan  cow 
at  a  house.  I  don't  know  but  wan  house 
where  they  kapes  more,  and  their  own  b'ys 
does  the  drivin',  and  that  wouldn't  do  us 
no  good.  The  pay  is  fifty  cents  a  month 
for  drivin'  a  cow  out  in  the  mornin'  and 
drivin'  it  back  at  night,  and  them  drivin' 
b'ys  runs  'em  till  the  folks,  many  of  'em, 
is  wantin'  a  different  koind  of  b'ys.  Now 
what  if  I  could  get  about  ten  cows,  and  put 
Andy  and  Jim  to  drive  'em  turn  about, 
wan  out  and  the  other  back.  Wouldn't 
that  be  a  good  thing  ?  Five  dollars  a  month 
to  put  to  the  sixteen  I  earn  a-washin',  and 
not  too  hard  on  the  b'ys,  nayther.  Don't 
you  think  'twould  be  a  good  thing, 
Pat?" 

"  I  do,  indeed,  mother,"  answered  the 
son  approvingly. 

108 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"I  knowed  you  would,  and  I  belave 
your  father  would.  How  is  it  you  come 
to  be  so  like  him,  Pat,  dear?  The  blessed 
angels  know.  But  you're  a  comfort  to  me. 
And  now  will  you  help  me  to  get  the  cows  ? 
If  you  could  get  a  riference,  I  belave  they 
calls  it,  from  the  Gineral,  for  we're  mostly 
strangers  yet.  You  can  say  you  know  Andy 
and  Jim  won't  run  the  cows." 

The  reference  was  had  from  the  General 
that  very  evening,  though  the  old  soldier 
could  not  help  smiling  to  himself  over  it, 
and  the  first  of  the  week  found  Andy  and 
Jim  trudging  daily  to  and  from  the 
pasture. 

It  was  not  without  something  like  a 
spirit  of  envy  that  Barney  and  Tommie 
saw  Jim  and  Andy  driving  the  cows. 

"  Mother,  why  can't  we  be  goin',  too  ? " 
teased  Barney,  while  Tommie  stood  by 
with  pouting  lips. 

"And  what  for  would  you  be  goin'?" 

asked  the  widow.  "  Most  cows  don't  loike 

little  b'ys.     They  knows,  does  the  cows, 

that  little  b'ys  is  best  off  somewhere  else 

109 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

than  tryin'   to   drive  them   about  sayin,' 
*  Hi!  hi! '  and  showin'  'em  a  stick." 

The  two  still  showing  discontent,  she 
continued:  "  But  geese,  now,  is  different. 
And  who's  to  be  moindin'  the  geese,  if  you 
and  Tommie  was  to  go  off  after  the  cows  ? 
Sure  geese  is  more  your  size  than  cows, 
I'm  thinkin',  and,  by  the  same  token,  I 
hear  'em  a-squawkin'  now.  What's  the 
matter  with  'em  ?  Go  see.  Not  that  any- 
body iver  knows  what's  the  matter  with  a 
goose,"  she  ended  as  the  little  boys  chased 
out  of  the  shanty.  "It's  for  that  they're 
called  geese,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 


CHAPTER  IX 

There  is  no  whip  to  ambition  like  suc- 
cess. Every  day  the  widow  thought,  and 
toiled,  and  kept  her  eyes  open  for  chances 
for  her  boys.  "  For,  after  all,"  said  she, 
"  twenty-one  dollars  a  month  is  all  too 
small  to  kape  six  b'ys  and  mesilf  when  the 
winter's  a-comin',  and  'twon't  be  twenty- 
one  then  nayther,  for  cows  ain't  drove  to 
pasture  in  winter." 

It  was  the  second  son  who  was  listening 
this  time,  and  the  two  were  alone  in  the 
shanty  kitchen. 

"  The  days  is  long,  and  I  belave,  Moike, 
you  could  do  something  else  than  our  own 
housework,  with  Andy  here  to  look  after 
the  little  b'ys." 

"  Say  what  it  is,  mother  dear,  and  I'll 
do  it,"  cried  Mike,  who  had  been  envy- 
ing Pat  his  chance  to  earn. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Well,  then,  to  be  telling  you  the  truth, 
Moike,  who  should  be  askin'  me  if  I 
knowed  of  a  boy  to  kape  his  lawn  clean 
this  summer  but  the  Gineral.  Says  I,  c  I 
do,  Gineral  Brady.  I'll  be  bold  to  say  my 
Moike  will  do  it.'  So  there  I've  promised 
for  you,  Moike,  and  you're  to  have  a  dol- 
lar a  month." 

The  boy's  delight  at  the  prospect  shone 
in  his  eyes  and  his  mother  went  on, 
"  Strong  and  hearty  you  are,  Moike,  and 
I've  been  thinkin'  what's  to  hinder  your 
gettin'  other  lawns  with  school  out  next 
week  and  nothin'  to  bother  you." 

The  little  woman  looked  tired  and  warm. 
She  was  just  home  from  Thursday's  wash, 
and  she  sat  down  wearily  on  one  of  the 
wooden  chairs.  Mike  saw  it,  and,  to  the 
boy  who  would  be  fourteen  the  next  day, 
there  suddenly  came  a  realizing  sense  of 
the  stay  his  mother  was  to  the  family.  He 
noted  with  anxiety  the  lines  that  were 
deepening  on  her  face.  "  Sit  in  father's 
chair,  mother  dear,"  he  coaxed.  "  'Twill 
rest  you  more." 

112 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

The  widow  looked  at  him  with  a  pleased 
expression  creeping  over  her  face. 

"  You're  father  and  mother  both,  so  you 
are.  Sit  in  father's  chair,"  persuaded 
Mike. 

"  No,"  she  answered,  as  she  rose  and 
went  over  to  the  seat  of  honor.  "  Don't 
praise  me  too  much.  I'm  jist  your  mother, 
doin'  the  best  I  can  for  you,  though." 

And  she  sat  down  and  leaned  her  head 
against  the  back  of  the  chair. 

The  sturdy  figure  of  the  boy  began  to 
move  briskly  about.  He  made  up  the 
fire  and  then  he  slipped  out  at  the  door 
and  took  an  observation.  No  shade  any- 
where but  at  the  east  end  of  the  shanty, 
where  the  building  itself  threw  a  shade. 
He  hurried  in  again. 

"  Will  you  be  gettin'  up,  mother  dear, 
if  you  please?  " 

In  surprise  she  stood  up.  The  strong, 
young  arms  reached  past  her,  lifted  the 
chair,  and  then  the  boy  began  to  pick  his 
way  carefully  so  as  not  to  strike  this  treas- 
ured possession  against  anything. 
"3 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  What  are  you  doin',  Moike  ?  "  asked 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan  in  astonishment. 

"I'mtakin' — the  chair — outside — where 
— there's  a  cool  shade.  'Tis  too  hot — for 
you  here  where  I'm  cookin'." 

He  turned  and  looked  back  as  he  stood 
in  the  doorway.  "  Come,  mother  dear, 
and  rest  you  in  the  cool." 

"Moike!  Moike!"  cried  the  widow, 
touched  by  this  attention.  "  'Tis  what  your 
father  would  have  done  if  he  was  here. 
Always  afraid  he  was,  that  I  would  be  get- 
tin'  overtired  or  something.  'Tis  sweet  to 
have  his  b'y  so  loike  him." 

Mike's  heart  gave  a  great  throb.  He 
knew  now  the  taste  of  that  praise  that  kept 
Pat  pushing  ahead.  "  'Tis  for  Pat  to  lead 
— he's  the  oldest,"  he  thought  over  his 
cooking.  "But  see  if  I  don't  be  lookin' 
out  for  mother  after  this,  and  makin'  it  as 
easy  for  her  as  I  can.  I'd  lug  forty  chairs 
ten  miles,  so  I  would,  to  have  her  praise 
me  like  that." 

The  next  morning  the  widow  rose  still 
weary.  The  kitchen  was  uncomfortably 
114 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

warm  as  a  sleeping  place   now,  but  what 
could  be  done  about  it?     Nothing. 

"  It's  all  there  is,  and  I  won't  be  sayin' 
a  word  about  it,  so  I  won't,"  she  thought. 
"  I'll  jist  tuck  Larry  in  with  Moike,  and  I 
guess  I  can  stand  it." 

Wash  day  for  the  home.  She  hardly 
felt  equal  to  her  task. 

Breakfast  was  over,  but  what  was  Mike 
doing?  Not  making  his  beds,  nor  wash- 
ing his  dishes.  He  had  put  on  and  filled 
the  boiler.  Now  he  was  carrying  out 
wash  bench  and  tubs  to  the  west  side  of 
the  shanty.  The  west  was  the  shady  side 
of  a  morning.  In  he  came  again — this 
time  for  the  father's  chair. 

"  'Tis  an  iligant  breeze  there  is  this 
mornin',"  he  cried.  "  Come  out,  mother, 
dear,  and  sit  in  father's  chair.  You've  got 
a  wash  boy  this  mornin',  so  you  have,  and 
he'll  need  a  lot  of  showin'." 

He  reached  for  the  washboard  as  he 
ceased,  and  smiled  lovingly  on  his  mother. 

"Moike!   Moike!  "cried  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan  in  a  trembling  tone,  "'tis  sweet  to 
"5 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

be  took  care  of.  I  hain't  been  took  care 
of  since  your  father  died." 

"Then 'tis  time  you  was!"  answered 
Mike.  "  And  I'm  the  boy  to  do  it,  too. 
Come  out,  mother  dear." 

And  the  mother  went  out. 

"  But  there's  your  housework,  Moike." 

"  That  can  wait,"  was  the  positive  reply. 

"  But  there's  your  schoolin'." 

"  I'm  not  goin'  to  school  to-day.  I  know 
my  lessons.  I  learnt  'em  last  night.  Will 
I  be  goin'  to  school  and  sittin'  there  all 
day,  and  you  all  tired  out  a-washin'  for  us  ? 
I  won't  that." 

"Moike,  'twas  your  father  was  dreadful 
headstrong  when  he  set  out  to  be.  It's 
fearin'  I  am  you're  loike  him  there." 

But  the  happy  light  in  her  eyes  was  re- 
flected on  the  face  of  her  son  as  he  an- 
swered: "  It's  wantin'  I  am  to  be  like  him 
in  everything,  headstrong  and  all.  I'm  not 
goin'  to  school  to-day." 

"And  you  needn't,  Moike.  I'll  be 
ownin'  to  you  now  I  didn't  feel  equal  to 
the  washin',  and  that's  the  truth." 

116 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mike  nodded  and  went  gayly  into  the 
house  for  warm  water  and  the  clothes. 

"  There's  more  than  one  kind  of  a  boy 
needed  in  a  house,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  With  seven  of  us  mother  ought  to  have 
'em  of  all  kinds.  I'm  the  one  to  be  aisin' 
her.  I'm  built  for  it."  And  he  rolled  up 
his  shirt  sleeves  over  his  strong,  muscular 
young  arms. 

"  Now  be  careful,"  began  Mike's  first 
lesson  in  washing,  "  and  don't  waste  the 
soap  and  your  strength  a-tryin'  to  get  the 
dirt  out  of  the  places  that  ain't  dirty.  Rub 
where  the  rubbin's  needed,  and  put  the 
soap  where  it's  wanted.  That's  it.  You're 
comin'  on  foine."  And  the  widow  resumed 
her  seat. 

For  a  few  moments  she  sat  silent  in 
thought.  Then  she  said:  "Do  you  know 
what's  the  matter  with  this  town,  Moike? 
All  theb'ys  in  it  that  wants  to  work  at  all 
wants  to  do  somethin'  aisy,  loike  drivin'  a 
delivery  wagon.  Though  the  way  they 
drive  'em  ain't  so  aisy  on  the  horses,  nay- 
ther.  There's  a  lesson  for  you,  Moike. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Them  that's  so  aisy  on  themsilves  is  the 
very  wans  to  be  hard  on  iverything  and 
iverybody.  Them  that's  got  snail's  feet 
of  their  own  can't  get  a  horse  to  go  fast 
enough  for  'em,  specially  when  the  horse 
belongs  to  somebody  else.  And  I'm  jist 
a-gettin'  my  courage  up,  Moike.  I  belave 
there'll  be  always  something  for  my  b'ys 
to  do,  because  my  b'ys  will  work.  And  if 
they  can't  get  b'ys'  work  they'll  do  girls' 
work.  Betwane  you  and  me,  Moike,  I'm 
proud  of  Pat.  Have  you  heard  the  news? 
When  school  closes  he's  to  have  two  dol- 
lars a  week,  and  three  afternoons  out  all 
summer.  And  what  do  you  think  Mrs. 
Brady  says?  She  says  she  hain't  had  such 
help  since  she  lived  in  the  East.  She  says 
she's  restin',  and  she  feels  ten  years  younger. 
That's  your  brother's  work,  Moike, — 
makin'  a  lady  like  Mrs.  Gineral  Brady  feel 
ten  years  younger.  If  there's  aught  to  be 
ashamed  of  in  that,  sure  'twould  take  a 
ninny  to  find  out  what  it  is.  I'll  warrant 
them  delivery  b'ys'  horses  ain't  feelin'  ten 
years  younger,  anyway." 
118 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mike's  face  showed  that  he  relished  his 
mother's  talk;  seeing  which, she  went  on: 
"You're  doin'  foine,  Moike.  Do  you 
know  there  was  a  girl  wanst  set  to  washin', 
and  she  had  it  in  her  moind  to  do  a  good 
job,  too.  The  first  thing  she  got  hold  of 
was  a  pillow  case  with  lace  on  the  ind  of 
it — wide  lace.  And  what  does  she  do  but 
lather  that  clean  lace  with  soap  and  put  in 
her  best  licks  on  it,  and  all  to  no  purpose 
at  all  only  to  wear  the  lace  to  strings,  and 
then,  don't  you  think,  she  quite  skipped 
the  body  of  the  case  where  the  head  had 
been  a-layin'." 

Mike  laughed. 

That  night  as  the  widow  and  her  boys 
sat  outside  the  door  in  the  cool,  quick 
steps  came  down  the  track,  crunching  the 
slack  and  cinders  that  filled  the  spaces  be- 
tween the  ties.  It  was  Pat  who  was  com- 
ing, and  his  face  was  anxious. 

"  What  ails  you,  mother  dear  ? "  he  cried 
lovingly. 

"  Why,  nothin',  Pat,  only  I've  got  some 
sons  that  spoils  me,  so  I  have,  a-makin' 
119 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

much  of  me.  'Tis  a  dreadful  complaint, 
ain't  it?  But  there's  mothers  as  is  not 
loike  to  die  of  it."  And  she  laughed  half 
tearfully.  She  had  been  nearer  breaking 
down  that  morning  than  she  would  admit, 
and  her  nerves  were  still  a  little  unsteady. 

"Andy  told  me  at  recess  Mike  was 
stayin'  home  to  wash,  and  I  didn't  know 
what  to  think.  I've  been  worryin'  about 
it  ever  since,  and  the  minute  my  work  was 
done  I  come  a-flyin'  to  see." 

"You  needn't  worry  no  more,  Pat. 
Sure,  and  I  thought  when  the  chance  come 
for  you  to  go  to  Mrs.  Gineral  Brady  'twas 
because  the  Lord  saw  our  need.  And  that 
was  it,  no  doubt,  but  there's  more  to  it, 
Pat.  You  went  that  I  might  foind  out 
what  koind  of  a  b'y  Moike  is.  You  moind 
what  I  told  you  about  permotions,  Pat? 
'Twas  your  steppin'  up  that  give  Moike 
his  chance  to  show  what  he  could  do.  And 
Moike  was  ready  for  it.  Chances  don't 
do  nobody  no  good  that  ain't  ready  for 
'em.  Andy  there  is  a-watchin',  I  know." 

The  frail  little  fellow  smiled.  There  was 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

some  light  on  the  group,  thrown  from  the 
electric  light  tower,  but  not  enough  to  show 
the  wistfulness  of  the  boy's  face,  and  the 
widow  burned  no  oil  in  summer.  Privately, 
Andy  was  afraid  chances  would  not  do  him 
much  good. 

"Why,"  continued  the  widow,  "even 
the  little  b'ys,  Barney  and  Tommie,  was 
a-watchin'  the  other  day  for  chances.  'Twas 
them  that  wanted  to  be  takin'  the  job  of 
drivin'  the  cows  from  Andy  and  Jim,  and 
leavin'  their  geese  to  do  it,  too.  There's 
big  b'ys,  I'm  thinkin',  that's  after  cows 
when  geese  would  be  better  suited  to  'em." 

Barney  and  Tommie  were  drowsing,  but 
Jim  blushed.  He  knew  that  reproof  was 
meant  for  him.  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  had 
been  thinking  about  her  fourth  son  to-day 
in  the  unaccustomed  leisure  given  her  by 
Mike. 

"  How  it  is  I  don't  know,"  she  mused, 
"but  he  do  have  a  wonderful  knack  at 
rilin'  up  the  little  b'ys,  and  he'd  iver  be 
doin'  somethin'  he  can't  do  at  all.  I'll  be 
lookin'  into  Jim's  case.  There  shan't 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

wan  of  Tim's  b'ys  be  sp'iled  if  I  can 
help  it." 

"  It's  time  you  was  goin',  ain't  it,  Pat?" 
suggested  Mike. 

At  this  breach  of  hospitality  the  widow 
was  astounded.  Mike  to  speak  like  that! 

For  a  second  Pat  seemed  hurt.  "  I  could 
have  stayed  half  an  hour  longer,  but  I'll 
go,"  he  said,  rising. 

"And  I'll  go  with  you  a  ways!"  ex- 
claimed Mike,  jumping  up  very  promptly. 

Pat's  farewells  were  said  and  the  two 
were  off  before  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  had  re- 
covered herself  enough  to  remonstrate. 

"  I  wanted  to  be  talkin'  to  you,  Pat,  and 
I  didn't  want  mother  to  hear.  That  kitch- 
en's too  hot  for  her  to  sleep  in,  and  that's 
the  truth." 

"  But  there  ain't  no  other  place,"  an- 
swered Pat  anxiously. 

"  No,"  returned  Mike  triumphantly. 
"  There  ain't  no  other  place  for  mother  to 
sleep,  but  there  is  a  place  we  could  put 
the  stove,  and  that's  outside." 

"What  in?"  inquired  Pat  gloomily. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"What  in?  In  nothin',  of  course. 
There's  nothin'  there.  But  couldn't  we 
stick  in  four  poles  and  put  old  boards 
across  so's  the  stove  would  be  covered, 
and  run  the  pipe  out  of  a  hole  in  the  top  ? " 

"  We  might,"  returned  Pat,  "  but  you'll 
have  to  make  up  your  mind  to  get  wet 
a-cookin'  more  days  than  one.  All  the  rains 
don't  come  straight  down.  There's  them 
that  drives  under.  And  you'd  have  to  be 
carrying  the  things  in  through  the  wet 
when  you  got  'em  cooked,  too." 

"And  what  of  that?"  asked  Mike. 
"  Do  you  think  I  care  for  that  ?  What's 
me  gettin'  wet  to  makin'  mother  comfort- 
able ?  There's  July  and  August  comin'  yet, 
and  June  only  begun." 

Pat  looked  at  his  brother  admiringly, 
though  the  semi-darkness  did  not  permit 
his  expression  to  be  seen. 

"  We'll  do  it !  "  said  he.  "  I'll  help  you 
dig  the  holes  for  the  posts  and  all.  We'll 
begin  to-morrow  evenin'.  I  know  Mrs. 
Brady  will  let  me  come  when  my  work's 
done." 

123 


CHAPTER  X 

The  next  morning  Pat  went  about  with 
a  preoccupied  air.  But  all  his  work  was 
done  with  his  accustomed  dispatch  and 
skill,  nevertheless. 

"What  is  on  my  boy's  mind?"  thought 
Mrs.  Brady.  Yes,  that  is  what  she  thought 
— "  my  boy." 

And  just  then  Pat  looked  into  the  sitting- 
room  with  his  basket  on  his  arm.  "  I'll  just 
be  doin'  the  marketin'  now,  ma'am,"  he 
said. 

"Very  well,"  smiled  Mrs.  Brady. 
"  Here's  a  rose  for  your  buttonhole.  You 
look  very  trim  this  morning." 

Pat  blushed  with  pleasure,  and,  advanc- 
ing, took  the  flower.  The  poor  Irish  boy 
had  instinctively  dainty  tastes,  and  the  love 
of  flowers  was  one  of  them.  But  even  be- 
fore the  blossom  was  made  fast,  the  pre- 
occupied look  returned. 
124 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Mrs.  Brady,  ma'am,  would  you  care  if 
I  stopped  at  the  lumber  yard  while  I'm 
down  town?  I'd  like  to  be  gettin'  some 
of  their  cheapest  lumber  sent  home  this 
afternoon." 

"Why,  no,  Pat.     Stop,  of  course." 

Pat  was  encouraged.  "  I  know  I  was  out 
last  night,"  he  said.  "  But  could  I  be  goin' 
again  this  evenin'  after  my  work's  done  ? 
Mike's  got  a  job  on  hand  that  I  want  to 
help  him  at." 

"Yes,  Pat." 

"You  see,  ma'am,"  said  the  boy  grate- 
fully, "we're  goin'  to  rig  up  something  to 
put  the  cook-stove  in  so  as  mother  will  be 
cooler.  It's  too  hot  for  her  sleepin'  in  the 
kitchen." 

Mrs.  Brady  looked  thoughtful.  Then 
she  said:  "You  are  such  a  good,  dutiful 
boy  to  me,  Pat,  that  I  think  I  must  re- 
consider my  permission.  Lunch  is  pre- 
pared. You  may  go  home  as  soon  as  you 
have  finished  your  marketing  and  help 
Mike  till  it  is  time  to  get  dinner.  We  will 
have  something  simple,  so  you  need  not 
125 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

be  back  until  four  this  afternoon,  and  you 
may  go  again  this  evening  to  finish  what 
remains  to  be  done." 

"  Mrs.  Brady,  ma'am,"  cried  Pat  from 
his  heart,  "you're  next  to  the  General, 
that's  what  you  are,  and  I  thank  you." 

Mrs.  Brady  smiled.  She  knew  the  boy's 
love  for  her  husband,  and  she  understood 
that  to  stand  next  to  the  General  in  Pat's 
estimation  was  to  be  elevated  to  a  pin- 
nacle. "  Thank  you,  Pat,"  she  replied. 
Then  she  went  on  snipping  at  the  choice 
plants  she  kept  in  the  house,  even  in  sum- 
mer, and  Pat,  proudly  wearing  his  rose, 
hurried  off. 

But  when  Pat  arrived  at  home  and  has- 
tened out  behind  the  shanty,  the  post-holes 
were  dug.  Mike  had  risen  at  three  o'clock 
that  morning,  dug  each  one  and  covered  it 
with  a  bit  of  board  before  his  mother  was  up. 

"And  have  you  come  to  say  you  can't 
come  this  evenin'?"  asked  Mike,  as  Pat 
advanced  to  where  he  was  sorting  over 
such  old  scraps  of  boards  as  he  had  been 
permitted  to  pick  up  and  carry  home. 
126 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  I've  come  to  get  to  work  this  minute," 
replied  Pat,  throwing  off  his  blouse  and 
hanging  it  on  the  sill  of  the  open  window, 
with  the  rose  uppermost. 

"  Where'd  you  get  that  rose?"  inquired 
Mike,  bending  to  inhale  its  fragrance. 

"  Mrs.  Brady  give  it  to  me." 

"  Mother  would  think  it  was  pretty," 
with  a  glance  at  his  older  brother. 

"And  she  shall  have  it,"  said  Pat.  "  But 
them  boards  won't  do.  I've  bought  some 
cheap  ones  at  the  lumber  yard,  and  they're 
on  the  way.  And  here's  the  nails.  We'll 
get  that  stove  out  this  day,  I'm  thinkin'. 
I  couldn't  sleep  in  my  bed  last  night  for 
thinkin'  of  mother  roastin'  by  it." 

"Nor  I,  neither,"  said  Mike. 

"  Well,  let's  get  to  diggin'  the  holes." 

"  They're  dug." 

"  When  did  you  dig  'em  ? " 

"  Before  day." 

"  Does  mother  know  ?  " 

"  Never  a  word." 

Pat  went  from  corner  to  corner  and 
peered  critically  down  into  each  hole. 
127 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"You're  the  boy,  Mike,  and  that's  a 
fact,"  was  his  approving  sentence. 

Just  then  the  boards  came  and  were 
thrown  off  with  a  great  clatter.  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  hurried  to  the  door.  "Now, 
b'ys,  what's  the  meanin'  of  this?"  she 
questioned  when  the  man  had  gone. 

"  Have  my  rose,  mother  dear,"  said 
Pat. 

"And  it's  a  pretty  rose,  so  it  is,"  re- 
sponded Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  receiving  it 
graciously.  "  But  it  don't  answer  my 
question.  What'll  you  be  doin'  with  them 
boords  ? " 

"  Now,  mother,  it's  Mike's  plan,  but 
I'm  into  it,  too,  and  we  want  to  surprise 
you.  Can't  you  trust  us  ?  " 

"  I  can,"  was  the  answer.  "  Go  on  with 
your  surprise."  And  she  went  back  into 
the  shanty. 

Then  the  boys  set  to  work  in  earnest. 
Four  scantlings  had  come  with  the  boards, 
and  were  speedily  planted  firmly. 

"  We  don't  need  no  saw,  for  the  boards 
are  of  the  right  length,  so  they  are.  A 
128 


Pat  and  Mike  building  the  kitchen. 
129 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

man  at  the  yard  sawed  'em  for  me.  He 
said  he  could  as  well  as  not.  Folks  are 
mighty  good  to  us,  Mike;  have  you 
noticed  ?" 

"  The  right  sort  are  good  to  us,  of 
course.  Them  Jim  Barrows  boys  are  any- 
thing but  good.  They  sets  on  all  of  us  as 
much  as  they  dares." 

By  three  o'clock  the  roof  was  on,  and 
the  rough  scraps  Mike  had  collected  were 
patched  into  a  sort  of  protection  for  a  part 
of  the  east  side  of  the  new  kitchen. 

"Now  let's  be  after  the  stove!"  cried 
Mike. 

In  they  went,  very  important. 

"  Mother,  dear,  we'd  like  to  be  takin' 
down  your  stove,  if  you'll  let  us,"  said 
Pat. 

The  widow  smiled.  "  I  lets  you,"  she 
answered. 

Down  came  the  stovepipe  to  be  carried 
out.  Then  the  lids  and  the  doors  were 
taken  off  to  make  the  heavy  load  lighter. 
And  then  under  went  the  truck  that  Andy 
had  run  to  borrow,  and  the  stove  was  out. 
131 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  carefully  refrained 
from  looking  at  them,  but  cheerful  sounds 
came  in  through  doors  and  windows  as  the 
big  boys  worked  and  the  little  ones 
crowded  close  with  eager  enjoyment  of 
the  unusual  happening.  Presently  there 
came  tones  of  dismay. 

"Pat,"  said  Mike,  "there's  no  hole  to 
run  the  pipe  through.  What'll  we  do?" 

"We'll  have  to  be  cuttin'  one,  and  with 
a  jackknife,  too,  for  we've  nothin'  else. 
But  I'll  have  to  be  goin'  now.  I  was  to  be 
back  by  four,  you  know." 

"  Then  we'll  call  the  mother  out  and 
show  her  the  surprise  now,"  said  Mike. 
"  I'll  make  short  work  of  cuttin'  that  hole 
after  you're  gone." 

"  Will  you  be  steppin'  out,  mother 
dear  ? "  invited  Mike  gallantly. 

"You'll  not  be  roastin'  by  the  stove  no 
more  this  summer,"  observed  Pat. 

The  widow  came  out.  She  looked  at  the 
rough  roof  supported  by  the  four  scant- 
lings, and  then  at  her  boys. 

"Sure,  'tis  a  nice,  airy  kitchen,  so  it  is," 
132 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

she  said.  "And  as  for  the  surprise,  'tis jist 
the  koind  of  a  wan  your  father  was  always 
thinkin'  up.  As  you  say,  I'll  not  be  roastin' 
no  more.  But  it's  awful  warm  you've  made 
my  heart,  b'ys.  It's  a  warm  heart  that's 
good  to  have  summer  and  winter."  And 
then  she  broke  down.  "  Niver  do  you 
moind  me,  b'ys,"  she  went  on  after  a  mo- 
ment. "  'Tis  this  sort  of  tears  that  makes 
a  mother's  loife  long,  so  'tis." 

"Well,  Mrs.  Brady,  ma'am,  we're  done," 
reported  Pat  at  a  few  minutes  before  four. 
"  Mike,  he'd  got  up  and  dug  all  the  holes 
before  day,  and  it  didn't  take  us  so  long." 

"And  is  the  stove  out?"  inquired  Mrs. 
Brady  kindly. 

"  It  is,  ma'am.  Mike  will  be  cookin'  out 
there  this  evenin'.  Mike's  gettin'  to  be  the 
cook,  ma'am.  I  show  him  all  I  learn  here, 
and  he  soon  has  it  better  than  I  have  my- 
self." 

Mrs.  Brady  smiled.  How  Mike  could 
do  better  than  Pat  she  did  not  see,  but  she 
could  see  the  brotherly  spirit  that  made 
Pat  believe  it. 

'33 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Perhaps  you  had  better  go  over  again 
this  evening,"  she  said,  "just  to  see  if  the 
stove  draws  well  in  the  new  kitchen." 

"Do  you  mean  it,  ma'am?"  asked  the 
boy  eagerly. 

"Yes." 

"Thank  you,  kindly.  I'd  like  to  go, 
but  I  wasn't  goin'  to  ask.  My  mother 
says  askin's  a  bad  habit.  Them  that  has 
it  is  apt  to  ask  more  than  they'd  ought  to 
many  times." 

Meanwhile,  up  on  the  roof  of  the  new 
kitchen  in  the  hot  afternoon  sun  sat  Mike 
with  his  knife.  He  had  marked  out  the 
size  of  the  pipe-hole  with  a  pencil,  and 
with  set  lips  was  putting  all  the  force  of 
his  strong,  young  arms  into  the  work.  A 
big  straw  hat  was  on  his  head — a  common 
straw,  worth  about  fifteen  cents.  Clustered 
below  were  the  little  boys. 

"  No,,  you  can't  come  up,"  Mike  had 
just  said  in  answer  to  their  entreaties. 
"The  roof  won't  bear  you." 

"  'Twould  bear  me,  and  I  could  help 
you  cut  the  hole,"  said  Jim. 
134 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  There  goes  Jim  again,"  soliloquized 
the  widow.  "  Wantin'  to  cut  a  round  hole 
in  a  boord  with  a  knife,  when  'tis  only  him- 
self he'd  be  cuttin',  and  not  the  boord  at 
all.  It's  not  so  much  that  he's  iver  for 
doin'  what  he  can't,  but  he's 
awful  set  against  doin'  what 
he  can.  Jim,  come  here  ! " 
she  called. 

Jim  obeyed. 

"  You  see  how  loike  your 
father    Pat  and    Moike 
and  Andy  is,  some  wan 
way  and   some  an- 
other.  Do  you  want 
to    be    loike    him, 
too?" 

Jim    owned    that 
he  did. 

"  Well,  then,  remimber  your  father 
would  niver  have  been  for  climbin'  to  the 
roof  of  the  new  kitchen  and  cuttin'  a  round 
hole  in  a  boord  with  a  knife  so  as  to  run 
the  pipe  through  when  he  was  your  soize. 
But  he  would  have  been  for  huntin'  up 
135 


"Up  on  the  roof  sat 
Mike  with  his  knife." 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

some  dry  kindlin'  to  start  the  fire  for  sup- 
per. So,  now,  there's  your  job,  Jim,  and  do 
it  good.  Don't  come  back  with  a  skimpin' 
bit  that  won't  start  the  coal  at  all." 

With  lagging  steps  Jim  set  off  to  the 
patch  of  hazel  brush  north  of  the  shanty 
to  pick  up  such  dry  twigs  as  he  could.  His 
mother  gazed  after  him. 

"  Tim  left  me  a  fortune  when  he  left  me 
my  b'ys,  all  but  Jim,"  she  said,  "  and  see 
if  I  don't  make  something  out  of  him,  too. 
Pat  and  Moike  and  Andy — showin'  that 
you  sense  what  they're  doin'  is  enough  for 
'em.  Jist  that  will  kape  'em  goin'  foine. 
But  Jim,  he'll  take  leadin'  with  praise  and 
shovin'  with  blame,  and  he'll  get  both  of 
'em  from  me,  so  he  will.  For  sure,  he's 
Tim's  b'y,  too,  and  will  I  be  leavin'  him 
to  spoil  for  want  of  a  harsh  word  now  and 
then?  I  won't  that.  There's  them  in 
this  world  that  needs  settin'  up  and  there's 
them  that  needs  takin'  down  a  peg.  And 
wanst  in  a  while  you  see  wan  that  needs 
both  of  'em,  and  that's  Jim,  so  'tis.  Well, 
I  know  it  in  toime,  that's  wan  thing." 
136 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Jim  made  such  slow  progress  that  the  hole 
was  cut,  the  pipe  run  through,  and  Mike 
was  beginning  to  look  about  for  his  own 
kindling  when  he  made  his  appearance. 

"Well,  Jim,"  said  his  mother,  taking 
him  aside,  "  there's  something  the  matter 
with  your  feet,  I'm  thinkin',  you've  been 
gone  so  long.  You  was  all  but  missin' 
the  chance  of  seem'  the  first  fire  started  in 
the  new  kitchen.  There's  something  to 
remimber — seem'  a  sight  loike  that — and 
then  you  have  it  to  think  about  that  it  was 
yoursilfthat  provided  the  kindlin' for  it. 
All  this  you  was  on  the  p'int  of  losin' 
through  bein'  slow  on  your  feet.  Your 
father  was  the  spriest  koind  of  a  b'y,  I'm 
told.  Only  show  him  an  errand,  and  he 
was  ofF  on  it.  Get  some  spryness  into  your 
feet  if  you  want  to  be  like  your  father,  and 
run,  now,  to  see  Moike  loight  the  fire. 
And  don't  be  reachin'  to  take  the  match 
out  of  his  hand,  nayther.  Your  toime  of 
fire  buildin'  will  come." 

Away  went  Jim.  He  was  certainly  spry 
enough  now.  Mike  was  just  setting  the 

'37 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

blazing  match  to  the  kindling  when  he 
reached  the  group  around  the  stove.  At 
the  front  stood  the  little  boys,  and  in  a 
twinkling  Jim  had  pushed  them  one  this 
way,  one  that,  in  order  to  stand  directly  in 
front  of  the  stove  himself. 

"There  he  goes  again,"  sighed  the 
widow.  "  'Tis  a  many  pegs  Jim  will  have 
to  be  took  down,  I'm  thinkin'." 


138 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  was  the  last  day  of  August  that  Pat 
went  walking  down  to  do  his  marketing 
with  a  jubilant  air.  Next  week  school  was 
to  begin,  and  with  the  beginning  of  the 
term  he  had  expected  to  go  back  to  his 
old  wages  of  a  dollar  a  week.  But  that 
morning  Mrs.  Brady  had  told  him  that  he 
was  still  to  have  two  dollars. 

"  And  me  goin'  to  school  ?  "  asked  the 
boy  in  surprise. 

"Yes,  Pat.  You  have  come  to  be  very 
skillful  about  the  house  and  you  are  worth 
it." 

"  I  wasn't  thinkin'  about  gettin'  skillful, 
ma'am,  so  as  to  have  my  wages  raised," 
was  the  earnest  answer.  "I  was  just 
thinkin'  how  to  please  you  and  doin'  my 
best." 

Mrs.  Brady  was  touched.  "You  have 
139 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

pleased  me,  Pat,  and  you  have  pleased 
Mr.  Brady,  too.  We  both  take  a  great 
interest  in  you." 

"Do  you,  ma'am  ?  Then  that's  better 
than  havin'  my  wages  raised,  though  it's 
glad  of  the  raise  I  am,  too,  and  thank  you 
for  it.  'Twill  be  great  news  to  be  takin' 
home  the  next  time  I  go." 

But  Pat  was  to  take  home  greater  news 
than  that,  though  he  did  not  know  it  as  he 
went  along  with  all  the  light-heartedness 
of  his  race.  The  sight  of  the  tall,  slender 
boy  with  his  basket  on  his  arm  had  grown 
familiar  in  the  streets  of  Wennott.  He 
was  never  left  waiting  in  the  stores  now, 
and  nothing  but  the  best  was  ever  offered 
him.  Not  only  did  the  grocers  know  him, 
but  the  butchers,  the  poulterers,  and  even 
the  dry  goods  merchants.  For  he  often 
matched  silks  and  wools  for  Mrs.  Brady, 
and  he  had  been  known  to  buy  towels  of 
the  common  sort.  A  group  of  loafers 
shrugged  their  shoulders  as  he  passed  them 
this  morning,  and  fell  to  repeating  anec- 
dotes of  his  shrewdness  when  certain  deal- 
140 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ers  had   tried   to   sell   him   poor  goods  at 
market  prices. 

"  There's  nobody  in  this  town  ever  got 
ahead  of  him  yet  on  a  deal,"  said  one. 
"He's  so  awful  honest." 

"  Bein'  square  himself,  he  won't  take 
nothin'  but  squareness  from  nobody,  and 
while  he's  lookin'  out  for  his  own  chances 
he  looks  out  for  the  other  fellow's,  too. 
Times  and  times  he's  handed  back  nickels 
and  dimes  when  change  wasn't  made 
straight,"  contributed  a  second. 

"There's  two  or  three  store  men  in  town 
got  their  eye  on  him.  They  don't  like  to 
say  nothin',  seein'  he's  cookin'  at  General 
Brady's,  but  if  he  ever  leaves  there,  he'll 
have  pick  and  choice.  Yes,  sir,  pick  and 
choice,"  concluded  a  third. 

At  that  very  moment  a  dry  goods  mer- 
chant of  the  west  side  of  the  square  was  in 
the  bank  talking  to  General  Brady.  "  I 
might  as  well  speak,"  Mr.  Farnham  had 
thought.  "  If  I  don't  get  him,  somebody 
else  will."  What  the  loafers  had  said  was 
true. 

141 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"General,"  began  Mr.  Farnham,  after 
the  two  had  exchanged  greetings,  "  I  dis- 
like to  interfere  with  your  family  arrange- 
ments, but  I  should  like  to  have  Pat  in 
the  store  this  fall.  I'll  give  him  fifteen 
dollars  a  month." 

The  General  smiled.  "  Fifteen  dollars 
is  cheap  for  Pat,  Mr.  Farnham.  He's  no 
ordinary  boy." 

"  But  that's  the  regular  price  paid  here 
for  beginners,"  responded  Mr.  Farnham. 
"And  he'll  have  a  great  deal  to  learn." 

"  Have  you  spoken  to  him  yet  ? " 

"  No,  I  thought  I  would  speak  to  you 
first." 

"  Well,  Mr.  Farnham,  Mrs.  Brady  and 
I  some  time  ago  decided  that,  much  as  we 
should  like  to  keep  Pat  with  us,  we  would 
not  stand  in  his  way  when  his  chance  came. 
I  think  this  is  his  chance.  And  I  don't 
doubt  he'll  come  to  you." 

After  a  little  further  talk  between  the 
two  General  Brady  said:  "There  is  an- 
other matter  I  wish  to  mention.  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  has  set  her  heart  on  having 
142 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Pat  graduate  from  the  public  school.  He 
could  do  so  easily  in  another  year,  but  with 
his  strong  mercantile  bent,  and  taking  into 
consideration  the  struggle  his  mother  is 
obliged  to  make  to  keep  him  there,  I  don't 
think  it  best.  For,  while  Pat  supports 
himself,  he  can  do  nothing  to  help  at  home. 
I  ask  you  to  give  him  one  evening  out  a 
week,  Mr.  Farnham,  and  I  will  direct  his 
reading  on  that  evening.  If  I  can  bring 
him  up  and  keep  him  abreast  of  the  times, 
and  prevent  him  from  getting  into  mis- 
chief, he'll  do." 

"I  shouldn't  think  he  could  accomplish 
much  with  one  evening  a  week,  General," 
objected  Mr.  Farnham,  who  did  not  wish 
to  give  Pat  a  regular  evening  out.  An  oc- 
casional evening  was  enough,  he  thought. 

"  Oh,  yes,  he  can,"  insisted  the  General. 
"The  most  of  his  reading  he  will  do  at 
odd  minutes,  and  that  evening  will  be 
chiefly  a  resume  and  discussion  of  what 
he  has  gone  over  during  the  week." 

"  You  must  take  a  strong  interest  in  the 
boy,  General." 

H3 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  I  do.  I  don't  mind  telling  you  pri- 
vately, Mr.  Farnham,  that  I  mean  to  push 
him.  Not  by  charity,  which,  to  the  best  of 
my  belief,  not  an  O'Callaghan  would  take, 
but  by  giving  him  every  opportunity  in 
my  power  to  advance  for  himself." 

"  In  other  words,  you  mean  to  protect 
the  boy's  interests,  General  ? " 

"  I  do.  As  I  said  before,  fifteen  dollars 
a  month  is  cheap  for  Pat.  I  suppose  he  is 
to  have,  in  addition,  his  one  evening  a 
week?" 

"Yes,"  agreed  Mr.  Farnham,  reluc- 
tantly. 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  General,  cour- 
teously. 

General  Brady  had  intended  to  keep  his 
news  from  Pat  until  the  next  morning,  but 
it  would  not  keep.  As  the  boy,  with  his 
spotless  apron  on,  brought  in  the  dinner 
and  stood  ready  to  wait  at  table,  the  old 
soldier  found  the  words  crowding  to  the 
tip  end  of  his  tongue.  His  keen  eyes  shone, 
and  he  regarded  with  a  most  kindly  gaze 
the  lad  who,  to  make  life  a  little  easier  for 
144 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

his  mother,  had  faced  jeers  and  contempt 
and  had  turned  himself  into  a  girl — a 
kitchen  girl.  It  was  not  with  his  usual 
smoothness,  but  quite  abruptly,  that  he 
began :  "  Pat,  you  are  to  leave  us,  it 
seems." 

Pat  so  far  forgot  his  manners  as  to  stop 
and  stare  blankly  at  his  employer. 

"Yes,  Pat.  You  are  going  into  Mr. 
Farnham's  store  this  fall  at  fifteen  dollars 
a  month." 

If  anything  could  have  more  endeared 
him  to  the  General  and  his  wife  it  was  the 
way  in  which  Pat  received  this,  to  him, 
important  communication.  He  looked 
from  one  to  the  other  and  back  again,  his 
face  radiant  with  delight.  The  born  trader 
was  to  have  an  opportunity  to  trade. 

And  then  his  expression  sobered.  "  But 
what  will  Mrs.  Brady  be  doin'  without 
me?  "  he  cried.  "  Sure  she's  used  to  me 
now,  and  she's  not  strong,  either." 

"  Perhaps  Mike  would  come,"  suggested 
Mrs.  Brady. 

"  He'll  be  glad  to  do  it,  ma'am!"  ex- 
HS 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

claimed  Pat,  his  joy  returning.  "  'Tis 
himself  that  thinks  its  first  the  General 
and  then  you,  just  as  I  do." 

"  I  hope  you  may  always  think  so," 
said  Mrs.  Brady,  smiling. 

"  Sure  and  I  will.  How  could  I  be 
thinkin'  anything  else?" 

And  then  the  meal  went  on. 

That  evening,  by  permission,  Pat  went 
home.  He  sang,  he  whistled,  he  almost 
danced  down  the  track. 

"And  it's  Pat  as  is  the  happy  b'y  this 
evenin',"  said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  "Listen 
to  him  singin'  and  whistlin',  first  wan  and 
then  the  other.  Gineral  Brady's  is  the  place 
for  any  one." 

The  family  were  sitting  in  the  kitchen, 
for  the  evening  was  a  trifle  cool.  But  the 
windows  were  open  and  there  was  a  lamp 
burning. 

"  He's  got  some  good  news,  I  guess," 
remarked  quiet  Andy. 

The  mother  gave  him  a  quick  glance. 
"Andy,"  she  said,  "  you're  the  b'y  as  is 
different  from  all  the  rest,  and  a  comfort 
146 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

you  are,  too.  'Tisn't  ivery  family  has  a 
b'y  as  can  hear  good  news  when  it's 
comin'." 

And  then  Pat  came  in.  His  eyes  were 
ablaze,  and  his  wide  mouth  wore  its  most 
joyous  smile.  He  looked  round  upon  them 
all  for  one  second,  and  then,  in  a  ringing 
voice,  he  cried  :  "  Mother !  Oh,  mother, 
it's  to  Mr.  Farnham's  store  I'm  to  go,  and 
I'm  to  have  fifteen  dollars  a  month,  and 
the  General  is  going  to  help  me  with  my 
books,  and  Mrs.  Brady  wants  Mike  to  go 
to  her!" 

It  was  all  out  in  a  breath,  and  it  was 
such  a  tremendous  piece  of  news  that  it 
left  them  all  gasping  but  Larry,  who  un- 
derstood not  a  thing  but  that  Pat  had 
come,  and  who  stood  waiting  to  be  noticed 
by  the  big  brother.  For  a  full  moment 
there  was  neither  speech  nor  motion.  Then 
the  widow  looked  slowly  round  upon  her 
sons.  Her  heart  was  full  of  gratitude  to 
the  Bradys,  of  pride  in  Pat,  of  exultation 
over  his  good  fortune,  and,  at  the  same 
time,  her  eyes  were  brimming  with  tears. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  B'ys,"  she  said  at  last,  "  I  wasn't  look- 
ing for  permotions  quite  so  soon  again. 
But  I  belave  that  where  they've  come 
wanst,  they're  loikely  to  be  comin'  again, 
if  them  that's  permoted  lives  up  to  their 
chances.  Who's  been  permoted  in  Mr. 
Farnham's  store,  I  can't  say.  But  sure 
Pat,  he  steps  up,  and  Moike  steps  into  the 
good  place  Pat  has  stepped  out  of,  and 
gives  Andy  his  chance  here  at  home. 
There's  them  that  says  there's  no  chances 
for  anybody  any  more,  but  the  world's  full 
of  chances.  It's  nothin'  but  chances,  so  'tis. 
Sure  a  body  don't  want  to  be  jerked  from 
wan  thing  to  another  so  quick  their  head 
spins,  and  so  chances  come  along  pretty 
middlin'  slow.  But  the  world's  full  of  'em. 
Let  Andy  wanst  get  lamed  here  at  home, 
and  you'll  be  seein'  what  he'll  do.  Andy's 
not  so  strong  as  some,  and  he'll  need  help. 
I'm  thinkin'  I'll  make  a  team  out  of  him 
and  Jim." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  helpin'.  I  want  to 
be  doin'  mesilf,"  objected  Jim. 

"And  what  will  you  be  doin'?"  asked 
148 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  widow.  "  You're  full  short  for  spreadin' 
bedclothes,  for  though  nine  years  makes  a 
b'y  plinty  big  enough  for  some  things,  it 
laves  him  a  bit  small  for  others.  You  can't 
be  cookin'  yet,  nor  sweepin',  nor  even 
loightin'  fires.  But  you  shall  be  doin', 
since  doin's  what  you  want.  You  shall 
wipe  the  dishes,  and  set  the  table,  and  do 
the  dustin',  and  get  the  kindlin',  and  sure 
you'll  be  tired  enough  when  you've  all 
that  done  to  make  you  glad  you're  no 
older  and  no  bigger.  Your  father,  when  he 
was  noine,  would  have  thought  that  a 
plinty  for  him,  and  so  it's  a  plinty  for 
you,  as  you'll  foind.  You're  quite  young 
to  be  permoted  that  high,"  went  on  his 
mother,  seeing  a  discontented  expression 
on  the  little  fellow's  face.  "Only  for  the 
big  b'ys  gettin'  ahead  so  fast,  you  wouldn't 
have  no  chance  at  all,  and  folks  wouldn't 
think  you  much  bigger  than  Barney  there, 
so  they  wouldn't.  B'ys  of  nine  that  gets 
any  sort  of  permotion  is  doin'  foine,  let 
me  tell  you.  And  now's  your  chance  to 
show  Moike  that  you  can  kape  the  dishes 
149 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

shinin',  and  niver  a  speck  of  dust  on  any- 
thing as  well  as  he  could  himsilf." 

Jim  straightened  himself,  and  Mike 
smiled  encouragingly  upon  him.  "  You 
can  do  it,  Jim,"  he  said  with  a  nod. 

And  Jim  decided  then  and  there  that  he 
would  do  it. 

"  I'll  be  lookin'  round  when  I  come  to 
visit  you-  all  from  Mrs.  -Brady's,  and  I  ex- 
pect to  be  proud  of  Jim,"  added  Mike. 

And  Jim  increased  his  determination. 
He  wanted  to  have  Mike  proud  of  him. 
Very  likely  Mike  would  not  be  proud  of 
the  little  boys.  There  was  nothing  about 
them  to  be  proud  of.  "  He  shall  be  proud 
of  me,"  thought  Jim,  and  an  important 
look  stole  over  his  face.  "  He'll  be  tellin' 
me  I'm  the  b'y,  I  shouldn't  wonder." 

And  now  the  widow's  mind  went  swiftly 
back  to  the  General.  "Sure,  and  it's  a 
wonderful  man  he  is,"  she  cried.  "  Your 
father  was  jist  such  a  man,  barrin'  he  was 
Irish  and  no  Gineral  at  all.  'Twas  him 
that  was  at  the  bottom  of  your  gettin'  the 
place  to  Mr.  Farnham's,  a-trustin'  you  to 
150 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

do  all  the  buyin'  so's  folks  could  see  what 
was  in  you.  It's  sorry  I  am  about  the 
graduation,  but  the  Gineral  knows  best,  so 
he  does." 

Then  her  thought  turned  to  the  finances 
of  the  family.     "  And  how  much  is  six- 


"Barney  and  Tommie  a-takin' 
care  of  the  geese." 


teen  and 
fifteen  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Sure, 
and  it's  thirty- 
wan.  Thirty- 
wan  dollars  a 
month  for  us  this  winter,  and  Moike 
takin'  care  of  himself,  to  say  nothin'  of 
what  Moike  has  earned  with  the  lawn 
mower.  'Blessin's  on  the  man  that  in- 
vented it,'  says  I,  'and  put  folks  in  the 
notion  of  havin'  their  lawns  kept  neat, 
'cause  they  could  do  it  cheap.'  And 
there's  what  Andy  and  Jim  has  made 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

a-drivin'  the  cows,  and  Barney  and  Tom- 
mie  a-takin'  care  of  the  geese.  Wennott's 
the  town  for  them  as  can  work.  And  bad 
luck  to  lazy  bones  anyway.  It's  thankful 
I  am  I've  got  none  of  'em  in  my 
family." 

She  paused  a  moment  in  reflection. 

"  Them  geese  now  is  foine.  Do  you 
think,  Pat,  the  Gineral  and  Mrs.  Brady 
would  enjoy  eatin'  wan  of  'em  when  it's  a 
bit  cooler  ?  You  knows  what  they  loikes 
by  this  time." 

"  I  think  they  would,  mother." 

"  Then  it's  the  best  of  the  lot  they  shall 
have.  Bad  luck  to  them  that's  always 
a-takin'  and  niver  wantin'  to  be  givin' 
back." 


152 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  fall  term  opened  and  found  Mike 
the  head  of  the  O'Callaghan  tribe,  as  the 
brothers  had  been  jeeringly  called  by  the 
Jim  Barrows  set.  And  Mike  was  a  good 
head.  The  sort  of  boy  to  impress  others 
with  the  good  sense  of  minding  their  own 
business.  His  blue  eyes  had  a  determined 
look,  as  he  came  on  the  campus  the  first 
morning  of  the  new  term,  that  made  his 
old  persecutors  think  it  best  to  withhold 
such  choice  epithets  as  "  Biddy,"  "  Kitchen 
Girl,"  and  "  Scrub  Maid,"  which  they  had 
laid  up  for  him.  For  they  knew  that  it  was 
Mike  who  now  did  housework  at  General 
Brady's.  They  had  never  seen  Mike  fight. 
He  had  always  stood  back  and  let  Pat  lead. 
But  there  was  something  in  his  erect  and 
independent  bearing  on  this  autumn  morn- 
ing that  made  it  very  evident  to  the  school 
'53 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

bullies  that  if  Mike  did  not  fight  it  was 
not  because  he  could  not. 

"Them  O'Callaghans  think  they're  some 
since  General  Brady  picked  'em  up,"  com- 
mented Jim  Barrows,  safely  out  of  Mike's 
hearing. 

"  General  Brady  had  never  heard  of 
them  when  Pat  gave  you  a  licking,  Jim,  or 
don't  you  remember  ?  "  asked  Bob  Farn- 
ham,  who  was  passing. 

"  Say,  Jim,"  advised  a  crony,  as  the  two 
sauntered  off  together,  "  we'd  better  let 
them  O'Callaghans  alone.  I  don't  like 
the  looks  of  that  Mike.  'Twasn't  any 
wonder  that  Pat  licked  you,  for  you're  not 
much  on  the  fight  anyway.  But  I  tell  you, 
I  wouldn't  like  to  tackle  that  Mike  my- 
self. He's  one  of  them  pleasant  kind 
that's  a  regular  tiger  when  you  stir  him 
up." 

"  He's  been  runnin'  lawn  mowers  all 
'  summer,"  observed  Jim  reflectively.  "  I 
reckon  he's  got  his  muscle  up.  Don't 
know  but  we  had  best  leave  him  alone." 

"  Let  me  tell  you,  Jim,  'twon't  do  just 
154 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  let  him  alone.  We've  got  to  let  'em 
all  alone — Andy  and  Jim  and  Barney  and 
Tommie — or  he'll  light  into  us  same  as 
Pat  did  into  you." 

"Why  can't  a  fellow  do  just  his  own 
fightin',"  grumbled  Jim  Barrows,  "and  let 
the  kids  look  out  for  themselves?" 

"  Some  of  'em  can,  but  the  O'Calla- 
ghans  ain't  that  kind.  Touch  one,  touch 
'em  all,  as  you'd  ought  to  know,  Jim." 

"Oh,  shut  up  !  You  needn't  be  throwin' 
up  that  lickin'  to  me  every  minute.  I  was 
surprised,  I  tell  you.  Astonished,  as  I 
might  say.  I  wasn't  lookin'  to  be  pitched 
into  by  a  low  down  Irish  boy." 

"Oh,  wasn't  you  ?  "  queried  his  friend 
ironically.  "  Well,  you  keep  on  a-hector- 
in',  and  you'll  be  surprised  again,  or  aston- 
ished, as  you  might  say.  That's  all." 

Jim  Barrows  had  not  looked  into  Mike's 
eye  for  nothing.  He  knew  for  himself  the 
truth  of  all  his  companion  had  been  saying, 
and  from  that  hour  the  little  boys  had 
peace. 

That  same  Monday  was  the  most  ex- 
155 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

citing  and  important  day  of  his  life  to  Pat. 
He  saw  other  clerks  lagging  along  without 
interest,  and  he  wondered  at  them.  Hith- 
erto, in  all  transactions,  he  had  been  a 
buyer.  Now  he  was  to  sell. 

Farnham's  store  was  on  the  west  side  of 
the  square — a  fair-sized  room — but  rather 
dark,  and  not  the  best  place  in  the  world 
to  display  goods.  It  was  not  even  the 
best  place  in  Wennott,  the  storerooms  of 
both  Wall  and  Arnold  being  newer  and 
better  fitted.  But  displaying  goods  was 
not  Pat's  affair  that  morning.  It  was  his 
part  to  display  a  clean  floor  and  well-dusted 
shelves  and  counters  to  the  first  customer. 

Mr.  Farnham  came  in  at  the  hour  when 
he  had  usually  found  his  other  boy  through 
with  the  sweeping  and  dusting,  and  Pat  was 
still  using  the  broom.  His  employer,  see- 
ing the  skillful  strokes  of  the  broom,  won- 
dered. But  he  was  soon  enlightened.  Pat 
was  not  giving  the  middle  of  the  floor  a 
brush  out.  He  was  sweeping  thoroughly 
into  every  corner  where  a  broom  could  find 
entrance.  For  Pat  knew  nothing  of"  brush 
156 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

outs,"  though  he  knew  all  about  clean 
floors.  Every  little  while  he  stopped, 
swept  up  his  collection  into  the  dust-pan 
and  carried  it  to  a  waste  box  in  the  back  of 
the  store.  Mr.  Farnham  watched  his  move- 
ments. "  He's  business,"  he  commented 
to  himself.  "  Neither  hurry  nor  lag." 

At  last  Pat  was  through.  One  of  the 
clerks  came  in,  and  she  stared  to  see  the 
shelves  still  wearing  their  dust  curtains. 
But  Pat  was  unconcerned.  He  had  never 
opened  a  store  before,  nor  seen  one  opened. 
He  had  been  told  to  sweep  out  and  dust, 
and  he  was  obeying  orders.  That  was  all 
he  was  thinking  about. 

The  sweeping  done,  Pat  waited  for 
the  little  dust  that  was  flying  to  settle. 
Then  he  walked  to  the  front  end  of  the 
store  and  began  to  unhook  the  dust  cur- 
tains. Very  gingerly  he  took  hold  of  them, 
being  careful  to  disturb  them  as  little  as 
possible.  Mr.  Farnham  and  the  girl  clerk 
watched  him.  Every  other  boy  had  jerked 
them  down  and  chucked  them  under  the 
counter  in  a  jiffy.  Out  went  Pat  with 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

them  to  the  rear  door,  gave  them  a  vigor- 
ous shaking,  brought  them  back,  folded 
them  quickly  and  neatly,  and  then,  turn- 
ing to  Mr.  Farnham  said,  "  Where  will 
you  have  'em,  sir?" 

In  silence  Mr.  Farnham  pointed  out  a 
place,  and  then  handed  him  a  feather  dus- 
ter, showing  him,  at  the  same  time,  how  to 
fleck  the  dust  off  the  edges  of  the  bolts  of 
goods  along  the  shelves,  and  also  off  the 
counter. 

"  This  thing's  no  good  for  the  glass  show 
cases,  sir.  I'd  ought  to  have  a  soft  cloth. 
Something  to  take  the  dust  up  with, 
sir." 

The  merchant  turned  to  the  girl  clerk. 
"  Cut  him  off  a  square  of  cheesecloth, 
Miss  Emlin,  please,"  he  said. 

"  Ordinary  boy  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Farn- 
ham to  himself  and  thinking  of  the  Gen- 
eral. "  I  should  say  he  wasn't.  But 
cleaning  up  a  store  and  selling  goods  are 
two  different  things." 

It  was  a  very  small  place  that  was  given 
to  Pat  in  the  store  that  day — just  the  cal- 
158 


"The  merchant  turned  to  the  girl  clerk." 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

icoes,  ginghams,  and  muslins.  And  Pat 
was  dissatisfied. 

"  'Tisn't  much  of  a  chance  I've  got,"  he 
murmured  to  himself.  "  Gingham — that's 
for  aprons,  and  calico  —  that's  for  dresses, 
and  muslin  —  that's  for  a  lot  of  things. 
Maybe  I'll  sell  something.  But  it  looks 
as  if  I'd  be  doin'  nothin',  that's  what  it 
does." 

He  thought  of  the  home  folks  and  how 
his  mother's  mind  would  be  ever  upon  him 
during  this  his  first  important  day.  "  May- 
be I'm  a  bit  like  little  Jim — wantin'  to  do 
what  I  can't  do.  Maybe  geese  are  my 
size,"  and  he  smiled.  "  Well,  then  I'll 
tend  to  my  geese  and  tend  'em  good,  so 
I  will." 

He  began  emptying  his  calico  tables 
upon  the  counter.  Mr.  Farnham  saw  him 
from  the  desk,  and  walked  that  way  at 
once.  "  What's  the  matter,  Pat  ?  "  he  in- 
quired. 

"Sure  I'm  just  gettin'  acquainted  with 
the  goods,  sir.  I  was  thinkin'  I  could  sell 
better,  if  I  knew  what  I'd  got.  I'll  put 

161 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

'em  back,  sir,  when  I've  looked  'em 
over." 

And  entirely  satisfied  with  his  newest 
clerk,  though  Pat  did  not  suspect  it,  Mr. 
Farnham  returned  to  his  writing. 

Pat  had  often  noticed  and  admired  the 
way  in  which  the  dry  goods  clerks  ran  off 
a  length  of  goods,  gathered  it  in  folds,  and 
held  it  up  before  the  customer. 

"  If  I  thought  nobody  was  lookin',  I'd 
try  it,  so  I  would,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  glanced  around.  Nobody  seemed 
to  be  paying  any  attention.  Pat  tried  it, 
and  a  funny  affair  he  made  of  it.  Mr. 
Farnham,  who  was  only  apparently  busy, 
had  to  exert  all  his  will  power  to  keep 
back  a  smile.  For  Pat,  with  the  fear  of 
observers  before  his  eyes,  unrolled  the 
web  with  a  softness  that  was  almost  sneak- 
ing; he  held  up  the  length  with  a  trem- 
bling hand  and  a  reddening  cheek;  and, 
putting  his  head  on  one  side,  regarded  his 
imaginary  customer  with  a  shamefaced  air 
that  was  most  amusing. 

Pat  seemed  to  feel  that  he  had  made 
162 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

himself  ridiculous.  He  sighed.  "There's 
too  much  style  to  it  for  me  yet,"  he  said. 
"  I'll  just  have  to  sell  'em  plain  goods  with- 
out any  flourishes.  But  I'll  do  it  yet,  so 
I  will,  only  I'll  practice  it  at  home." 

"And  what  did  you  be  sellin'  to-day, 
Pat  dear? "  asked  his  mother  when  at  half- 
past  nine  he  entered  the  kitchen  door. 
She  would  not  ask  him  at  supper  time. 
She  wished  to  hear  the  sum  total  of  the 
day's  sales  at  once,  and  she  had  prepared 
her  mind  for  a  long  list  of  articles. 

"Well,  mother,"  answered  Pat  drawing 
a  long  breath,  "I  sold  two  yards  and  a  half 
of  gingham." 

The  widow  nodded.  But  Pat  did  not  go 
on. 

"And  what  else,  Pat  dear?" 

"Nothin'  else,  mother." 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  looked  astonished. 
"  That's  little  to  be  sellin'  in  a  whole  day," 
she  observed.  "  Didn't  you  sell  no  silks 
and  velvets  and  laces?" 

"I'm  not  to  sell  them,  mother." 

"And  why  not?"  with  a  mystified  air. 
163 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Sure  and  I  don't  know.  I've  just  the 
calicoes  and  the  ginghams  and  the  mus- 
lins." 

"Ah !"  breathed  the  widow.  And  she 
sat  silent  in  thought  a  while.  The  small 
lamp  on  the  pine  table  burned  brightly, 


"Mrs.  O'Callaghan  looked  astonished." 

and  it  lit  up  Pat's  face  so  that  with  every 
glance  his  mother  cast  at  him  she  read 
there  the  discouragement  he  felt. 

"  Pat  dear,"  she  began  presently,  "there's 
beginnin's  in  all  things.  And  the  begin- 
nin's  is  either  at  the  bottom  or  at  wan  ind, 
depindin'  which  way  you're  to  go.  Roads 
has  their  beginnin's  at  wan  ind  and  runs 
164 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

on,  round  corners,  maybe,  to  the  other 
ind.  Permotions  begin  at  the  bottom. 
You  moind  I  was  tellin'  you  'twas  loikely 
there  was  permotions  in  stores  ? " 

Pat  gazed  at  his  mother  eagerly.  "  Do 
you  think  so,  mother?" 

"I  think  so.  Else  why  should  they  put 
the  last  hand  in  to  sweepin'  out  and  sellin' 
naught  but  ginghams  and  calicoes  and  mus- 
lins? And  will  you  be  tellin'  me  what  the 
b'y  that  swept  out  before  you  is  sellin'  ?" 
continued  the  little  woman,  anxious  to 
prove  the  truth  of  her  opinion. 

"  Sure  and  he  ain't  sellin'  nothin',"  re- 
sponded the  son.  "  He  ain't  there." 

"And  why  not?"  interrogated  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan. 

"  I'm  told  he  didn't  do  his  work 
good." 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  looked  grave.  "Well," 
she  said,  "  there's  a  lesson  for  them  that 
needs  it.  There's  gettin'  out  of  stores  as 
well  as  gettin'  in,  so  there  is.  And  now, 
Pat,  cheer  up.  'Tis  loikely  sellin'  things 


165 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

is  a  business  that's  got  to  be  lamed  the 
same  as  any  other." 

"  Well,  but,  mother,  I  know  every  piece 
I've  got,  and  the  price  of  it." 

"  Can  you  measure  'em  off  handy  and 
careless  loike,  so  that  a  body  wonders  if 
you  ain't  makin'  a  mistake,  and  measures 
'em  over  after  you  when  they  gets  home, 
and  then  foinds  it's  all  roight  and  trusts 
you  the  nixt  toime  ?  " 

Pat  was  obliged  to  admit  that  he  could 
not. 

"And  can  you  tie  up  a  bundle  quick 
and  slick  and  make  it  look  neat?" 

Again  Pat  had  to  acknowledge  his  de- 
ficiency. 

His  mother  regarded  him  with  an  air  of 
triumph.  "  I  knowed  I  could  put  my 
finger  on  the  trouble  if  I  thought  about 
it.  You've  got  it  in  you  to  sell,  else  Mr. 
Farnham  wouldn't  have  asked  for  you. 
But  he  wants  you  for  what  you  can  do 
after  a  while  more  than  for  what  you  can 
do  now.  Remimber  your  beds  and  your 
cookin',  Pat,  and  don't  be  bakin'  beans  by 

166 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

your  own  receipt  down  there  to  the  store. 
It's  a  foine  chance  you've  got,  so  'tis. 
Maybe  you'll  be  sellin'  more  to-morrow. 
And  another  thing,  do  you  belave  you've 
got  jist  as  good  calicoes  and  ginghams  and 
muslins  to  sell  as  there  is  in  town?" 
"Yes,  mother,  I  know  I  have." 
"  Then  you've  got  to  make  the  ladies 
belave  it,  too.  And  it  won't  be  such  a 
hard  job,  nayther,  if  you  do  your  best. 
If  they  don't  like  wan  thing,  show  'em 
another.  There's  them  among  'em  as  is 
hard  to  plaze,  and  remimber  you  don't 
know  much  about  the  ladies  anyhow, 
havin'  had  to  do  only  with  your  mother 
and  Mrs.  Gineral  Brady.  And  there's  dif- 
ferent sorts  of  ladies,  too,  so  there  is,  as 
you'll  foind.  It's  a  smart  man  as  can 
plaze  the  half  of  'em,  but  you'll  come  to 
it  in  time,  if  you  try.  Your  father  had  a 
great  knack  at  plazin'  people,  so  he  had, 
Pat.  For  folks  mostly  loikes  them  that 
will  take  pains  for  'em;  and  your  father 
was  always  obligin'.  And  you  are,  too, 
Pat,  but  kape  on  at  it.  Folks  ain't  a-goin' 
167 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  buy  nothin',  if  they  can  help  it,  from  a 
clerk  that  ain't  obligin'.  Sellin'  goods  is 
pretty  much  loike  doin'  housework,  you'll 
foind,  only  it's  different." 


168 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  Pat,"  said  his  mother  the  next  morn- 
ing at  breakfast,  "  what's  that  book  you 
used  to  be  studyin'  that  larns  you  to  talk 
roight?" 

"  Grammar,  mother." 

"Well,  then,  your  studyin'  has  done 
you  small  good,  for  you  talk  pretty  much 
the  way  I  do  mysilf,  and  niver  a  bit  of  that 
book  did  I  be  larnin'  in  my  loife.  It  don't 
make  a  bit  of  difference  what  you  know, 
if  you  don't  go  and  do  what  you  know. 
But  you're  not  too  old  to  begin  over 
again,  Pat,  and  practice  talkin'  roight. 
Roight  talkin'  will  help  you  in  the  store. 
You've  got  in,  and  that's  only  half  of  it, 
for  you'll  not  stay  in  if  you  don't  do  your 
best.  And  that's  why  helpin'  a  body  don't 
do  so  much  good  after  all." 

Pat  blushed,  and  the  widow  felt  a  little 
compassion.  She  threw  increased  confi- 
169 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

dence  into  her  tone  as  she  went  on.  "  Not 
as  anybody  thinks  you  won't  stay,  Pat,  for, 
of  course,  you'll  do  your  best.  But  about 
your  talkin' — you'll  need  somebody  to 
watch  you  close,  and  somebody  that  loves 
you  well  enough  to  tell  you  your  mistakes 
koindly,  and  Andy's  the  b'y  to  do  it.  He's 
the  wan  among  you  all  that  talks  roight, 
for  he  loves  his  book,  do  you  moind." 

And  now  it  was  Andy's  turn  to  blush, 
while  the  widow  smiled  upon  him.  "  I 
hear  a  many  of  them  grammar  folks  talk," 
she  said,  "and  it's  mysilf  that  sees  you  talk 
jist  loike  'em,  barrin'  the  toimes  when  you 
don't.  And  them's  not  so  many,  nayther." 

At  this  little  Jim  scowled  scornfully,  but 
of  him  his  mother  took  no  notice  as  she 
looked  around  with  pride  upon  her  sons. 

"And  it's  proud  I  am  to  be  havin'  all 
sorts  of  b'ys  in  my  family,  barrin'  bad 
wans,"  she  continued.  "  I'll  jist  be  tryin' 
to  larn  a  little  better  ways  of  talkin'  my- 
silf, so  I  will,  not  as  I  think  there's  much 
chance  for  me,  and,  as  there's  no  good  of 
waitin'  till  you  get  as  old  as  Pat,  Jim, 
170 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

you'll  be  takin'  heed  to  Andy's  talkin'. 
Andy's  the  talker  as  would  have  plazed 
his  father,  for  his  father  loiked  everything 
done  roight,  so  he  did." 

It  was  pleasant  to  see  Andy's  sensitive 
face  glow  with  delight  at  being  thus  pub- 
licly commended  by  that  potentate  of  the 
family,  his  mother.  Mrs.  O'Callaghan 
saw  it.  "  And  did  you  think  I  wasn't  no- 
ticin'  because  I  didn't  say  nothin'?"  she 
asked  him. 

Then  turning  to  the  rest,  "  B'ys,  you 
mostly  niver  knows  what  folks  is  a-noticin' 
by  what  they  says — that  is,  to  your  face — 
but  you  sometoimes  foinds  out  by  hearin' 
what  they've  been  sayin'  behoind  your 
back.  And,  by  the  same  token,  it's  mostly 
bad  they  says  behoind  your  back." 

"  I  don't  want  to  be  larnin'  from  Andy," 
interrupted  Jim.  "  He's  but  two  years 
older  than  me  anyway." 

The  widow  eyed  him  severely.     "  Well, 

Jim,  is  it  bigger  and  older  than  Pat   you 

are?     Pat's  goin' to  larn  from  Andy.    And 

is  it  older  than  your  mother  you  are,  that's 

171 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

forty  years  old?  Sure  I'm  goin'  to  larn 
from  Andy." 

But  Jim  still  appeared  rebellious. 

"Some  of  these  days  little  Barney  and 
Tommie  and  Larry  will  be  set  to  larn  from 
you.  Take  care  they're  not  set  to  larn 
what  not  to  do  from  lookin'  at  you.  'Tis 
Andy  that's  got  the  gift  ne'er  a  wan  of  us 
has,  and  he'll  show  us  how  to  profit  by  it, 
if  we  has  sinse.  It's  thinkin'  I  am  your 
father,  if  he  was  here,  would  not  have  been 
above  touchin'  up  his  own  talkin'  a  bit 
under  Andy's  teachin'.  Your  father  was 
for  larnin'  all  he  could,  no  matter  who 
from,  old  or  young." 

Now  the  widow  might  have  talked  long 
to  Jim  without  affecting  him  much,  but  for 
one  thing.  She  had  said  that  Andy  had  a 
gift  that  all  the  rest  lacked.  He  resolved 
from  that  moment  that  he  would  talk  bet- 
ter than  Andy  yet,  or  know  why. 

A  pretty  big  resolve  for  so  young  a  boy, 

but  Jim  could    not  endure  to  yield  the 

supremacy  to  Andy  in  anything.     Pat  and 

Mike  he  was  content  to  look'  up  to,  but 

172 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Andy  was  too  near   his   own  age,  and  too 
small  and  frail  to  challenge  Jim's  respect. 

That  morning  Jim  said  little,  but  his 
ears  were  open.  Every  sentence  that 
Andy  spoke  was  carefully  listened  to,  but 
the  little  fellow  went  to  school  not  much 
enlightened.  He  could  see  the  difference 
between  his  speech  and  Andy's,  but  he 
could  not  see  what  made  the  difference. 
And  ask  Andy  he  wouldn't. 

"  I'll  be  askin'  the  teacher,  so  I  will," 
he  thought. 

That  morning  at  recess,  a  small,  red- 
headed, belligerent-looking  boy,  with  a 
pair  of  mischievous  blue  eyes,  went  up  to 
Miss  Slocum's  desk.  But  the  eyes  were 
not  mischievous  now.  They  were  very 
earnest  as  they  gazed  up  into  his  teacher's 
face. 

"Plaze,  ma'am,  will  you  besayin':  I'll  be 
larnin'  it  yet,  so  I  will  ?" 

Miss  Slocum  was  surprised.  "What 
did  you  say,  Jim  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Plaze,  ma'am,  will    you  say:   I'll  be 
larnin'  it  yet,  so  I  will?" 
173 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Miss  Slocum  smiled,  and  obligingly  re- 
peated, "I'll  be  larnin' it  yet,  so  I  will." 

"  No,"  said  Jim.  "  That's  the  way  I 
said  it.  Say  it  right." 

"  Say  it  right !  "  exclaimed  Miss  Slocum. 

"Yes,  say  it  like  the  grammar  book." 

"Oh,"  said  Miss  Slocum  wonderingly. 
"  I  will  learn  it  yet.  Is  that  what  you 
wanted  ? " 

"Yes,  ma'am.  Will  you  be  tellin*  me 
some  more  when  I  want  to  know  it?" 

"  Certainly,"  responded  the  gratified 
teacher,  whereat  Jim  went  away  satisfied. 
He  smiled  to  himself  knowingly,  as  he 
caught  sight  of  Andy  at  a  distance  on  the 
campus.  "I'll  not  be askin' him  nayther," 
he  said.  "  I  will  learn  it  yet." 

As  for  Pat,  he  went  to  the  store  that 
same  morning  a  trifle  disconsolate.  He  was 
fond  of  trade,  but  he  knew  almost  nothing 
of  dry  goods;  and  here  was  his  mother 
counseling  him  to  improve  his  speech,  and 
holding  up  to  him  the  warning  that  his 
own  inefficiency  might  lose  him  his  place. 

"Well,  I  know  how  to  sweep  and  dust, 
'74 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

anyway,"  he  thought  as  he  unlocked  the 
store  door,  went  in  and  took  up  his  broom. 
As  thoroughly  as  before  he  went  over 
everything,  but  much  more  quickly,  not 
having  the  accumulated  shiftlessness  of 
former  boys  to  contend  with.  And  Mr. 
Farnham,  on  his  arrival,  found  everything 
spotless. 

Customers  at  Pat's  department  that  day 
found  a  very  silent  clerk,  but  one  eager 
to  oblige.  Many  times  before  he  went 
home  for  the  night  did  he  display  every 
piece  of  goods  in  his  charge,  and  that  with 
such  an  evident  wish  to  please,  that  his 
sales  were  considerable.  And  the  widow 
heard  his  report  at  bedtime  with  some- 
thing like  satisfaction. 

"And  what  did  you  say  to  make  'em 
buy?  "  she  inquired. 

"Well,  mother,  I  mostly  didn't  say  any- 
thing. I  didn't  know  what  to  say,  and  I 
couldn't  say  it  right,  neither,  and  so  I  just 
watched,  and  if  they  so  much  as  turned 
their  eyes  on  a  piece,  I  got  it  out  of 
the  pile  and  showed  it  to  'em.  I  just 
'75 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

wished  with  all  my  might  to  sell  to  'em, 
and  I  sold  to  'em." 

His  mother's  eyes  were  fixed  on  him, 
and  she  nodded  her  head  approvingly. 
"  Sure  and  if  you  couldn't  do  no  better, 
that  was  good  enough,  so  'twas,"  was  her 
comment.  "  You'll  larn.  But  didn't  no- 
body say  nothin'  to  you  ?  " 

"  They  did,  mother,  of  course." 

"  And  who  was  they  that  spoke  to  you 
and  what  about?  " 

"Well,  mother,  there  was  old  Mrs. 
Barter,  for  one.  She's  awful  stingy.  I've 
seen  her  more  than  once  in  the  groceries. 
Always  a-wantin'  everything  a  little  lower, 
and  grumblin'  because  the  quality  wasn't 
good.  Them  grocers'  clerks  mostly  hates 
her,  I  believe.  And  they  don't  want  to 
wait  on  her,  none  of 'em.  'Twas  her,  I'm 
told,  washed  up  two  or  three  of  them 
wooden  butter  dishes  and  took  'em  up  and 
wanted  to  sell  'em  back  to  them  she  got 
her  butter  from." 

"Ah!"  said  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  with 
her  eyes  sympathetically  upon  her  son. 
176 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"And  she  was  to  buy  of  you  to-day,  was 
she?" 

"Yes,  mother." 

"And  did  she  buy  anything?" 

«  She  did." 

"What  was  it?" 

"A  calico  dress." 

"And  how  come  she  to  do  it?" 

"I  don't  know.  She  begun  by  lookin' 
everything  over  and  runnin'  everything 
down.  And  at  last  she  took  hold  of  a  piece, 
and  says  she,  'Come,  young  man,  I've  seen 
you  a-buyin'  more  than  once.  Can  you  tell 
me  this  is  a  good  piece  that  won't  fade? 
CI  can,  ma'am,'  says  I.  '  You  won't  find  no 
better  in  town.' 

"'Ah!  but  you're  sellin','  says  she. 
4  Would  you  tell  your  mother  the  same?' 
And  she  looked  at  me  sharp. 

"  '  I  would,  ma'am,'  says  I. 

"'Then  I'll  take  it,'  says  she.  'I've 
not  watched  you  for  nothin'.' ' 

"And  then  what?"  asked  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan  eagerly.  This,  in  her  opinion,  was 
a  triumph  for  Pat. 

177 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Why,  nothin',  mother,  only  I  wrapped 
it  up  and  give  it  to  her,  and  I  says,  'Come 
again,  ma'am,'  and  she  says, '  I  will,  young 
man,  you  may  depend.'  ' 

The  little  woman  regarded  him  proudly. 
But  all  she  said  was:  "  When  you're  doin' 
well,  Pat,  the  thing  is  to  see  if  you  can't 
do  better.  You  had  others  a-buyin'  of  you 
to-day,  I  hope?" 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  'Tis  too  late  to  hear  about  it  to-night, 
for  'tis  good  sleep  that  sharpens  the  wits. 
And  the  broightest  wits  will  bear  that 
koind  of  sharpening  so  they  will.  I 
wouldn't  be  knowin'  what  to  do  half  the 
time  if  it  wasn't  for  sleepin'  good  of  nights. 
And,  by  the  same  token,  if  any  of  them 
high-steppin'  clerks  comes  around  with  a 
cigar  and  a-wantin'  you  to  go  here  and  yon 
of  nights,  jist  remimber  that  your  wits  is 
your  stock  in  trade,  and  Mr.  Farnham's 
not  wantin'  dull  wans  about  him,  nayther." 

Thus  having  headed  off  any  designs 
that  might  be  had  upon  Pat,  his  mother 
went  to  sharpen  her  own  wits  for  what- 
178 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ever  the  morrow  might  have  in  store  for 
her. 

And  now  a  change  began  to  come  over 
Jim.  He  left  his  younger  brothers  in  un- 
hectored  peace.  He  had  not  much  to  say, 
but  ever  he  watched  Andy  from  the  cor- 
ner of  a  jealous  eye,  and  listened  for  him 
to  speak.  All  his  pugnacity  was  engaged 
in  what  seemed  to  be  a  profitless  struggle 
with  the  speech  of  the  grammar.  "I  will 
larn  it  yet,"  he  repeated  over  and  over. 
And  even  while  the  words  were  in  his 
mouth,  if  he  had  had  less  obstinacy  in  his 
make-up,  he  would  have  yielded  himself 
to  despair.  But  a  good  thing  happened 
to  him.  Miss  Slocum,  not  knowing  his 
ignoble  motive,  and  seeing  a  very  earnest 
child  striving  to  improve  himself,  set  about 
helping  him  in  every  possible  way. 

One  day  she  called  him  to  her.  "Jim," 
she  said,  "asking  me  questions  is  slow 
work.  Suppose  I  correct  you  every  time 
you  make  a  mistake? " 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  answered  Jim  vaguely, 
not  knowing  the  meaning  of  correct. 

o  o 

179 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"You  don't  understand  me?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"  Correct  means  to  make  right.  Suppose 
I  set  you  right  whenever  you  go  wrong?" 

"  That's  it!"  cried  Jim  enthusiastically. 
"  That's  it !  I  can  larn  that  way  sure." 

"  Learn,  not  larn,  Jim." 

Jim  looked  at  her.  "  'Tis  learn  and  not 
larn  I'll  be  sayin',"  he  declared. 

"Not  Til  be  sayin ',"  corrected  Miss 
Slocum,  "  but  /'//  say." 

"Learn,  not  larn,  and  /'//  say,  not  /'// 
be  sayin  "  amended  the  obedient  Jim,  and 
then  he  sped  away. 

And  that  night  he  did  what  never  a  child 
of  Mrs.  O'Callaghan's  had  done  before. 
The  family  were  at  supper.  Pat,  paying 
good  heed  to  his  tongue,  was  manifestly 
improving,  and  the  widow  was  congratu- 
lating him  in  her  own  way. 

"  What  did  I  be  sayin'  to  you,  Pat  dear  ? 
Did  I  be  tellin'  you  you  wasn't  too  old  to 
larn  ?  And  I'll  be  sayin'  it  again,  so  I  will." 

"Larn's  not  the  right  of  it,"  interrupted 
Jim.  "Learns  what  you  ought  to  be 
180 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

sayin'.  /'//  be  sayin  ain't  right,  nayther," 
he  continued.  "  It's  I' II  say"  and  he  looked 
very  important. 

Pat  and  Andy  regarded  him  in  dis- 
pleased astonishment,  but  the  widow  could 
take  care  of  her  own. 

"  And  it's  glad  I  am  to  see  that  you 
know  so  much,  Jim,"  she  said  quietly. 
u  What  more  do  you  know?  Let's  hear  it." 

Thus  brought  to  book  Jim  grew  con- 
fused. He  blushed  and  stammered  under 
the  unfavorable  regard  of  his  mother  and 
two  older  brothers,  and  finally  confessed 
that  he  knew  nothing  more.  At  which 
Barney  and  Tommie  nudged  each  other. 
They  did  not  understand  what  all  the  talk 
was  about,  but  they  could  see  that  Jim 
was  very  red  in  the  face,  and  not  at  all  at 
his  ease,  and  their  beforetime  hectored 
little  selves  rejoiced. 

"  B'ys,"  said  the  mother,  "  I  told  you 
if  your  blessed  father  was  here  he'd  not 
be  above  learning  from  any  one,  old  or 
young.  And  he  wouldn't,  nayther.  And 
sure  he  said  larn  himsilf.  And  from  Jim 

181 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

here  he'd  learn  better  than  that,  and  he'd 
learn,  too,  how  them  that  knows  very  little 
is  the  quickest  to  make  a  show  of  it.  But 
kape  on,  Jim.  It's  glad  I  am  you  know 
the  difference  betwane  larn  and  learn,  and 
sure  the  only  difference  is  that  wan's  wrong 
and  the  other's  roight." 

Jim  had  hoped  to  quite  extinguish  Andy 
by  his  corrections,  and  he  hardly  knew 
where  he  was  when  his  mother  finished; 
and  he  was  still  more  abroad  when  Pat 
took  him  out  after  supper  and  vigorously 
informed  him  that  bad  manners  were  far 
worse  than  bad  grammar. 

"  Well,  well,"  thought  the  widow  that 
evening  as  she  waited  alone  for  Pat,  "Jim 
do  be  gettin'  ahead  of  me,  that  he  do. 
He's  loike  to  have  the  consate,  so  he  is, 
take  him  down  as  a  body  will.  But  there's 
wan  good  thing  about  it.  While  he's 
studyin'  to  beat  us  all  on  the  talkin'  he's 
lettin'  the  little  b'ys  alone  famous.  He 
didn't  never  do  much  to  'em,  but  he  jist 
riled  'em  completely,  so  he  did,  and  made 
'em  cross  at  iverybody." 
182 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  month  went  along  very  quietly  and, 
following  that,  another  month.  The  weeds 
that  had  flourished  along  the  sides  of  the 
ditches  were  all  dead.  No  more  did  the 
squawking  O'Callaghan  geese  delight  them- 
selves among  them.  The  kitchen  stove 
had  long  been  brought  back  into  the  shanty, 
and  Barney  and  Tommie,  sitting  close  be- 
hind it  on  their  short  evenings  that  ended 
in  bedtime  at  half-past  seven  o'clock,  had 
only  the  remembrance  of  their  labors.  But 
that  memory  sweetened  the  prospect  of 
savory  dinners  to  come,  for  even  Barney 
and  Tommie  liked  to  feel  that  they  were 
of  some  importance  '  in  the  family  world. 
Often  had  their  mother  praised  them  for 
their  care  of  the  geese,  and  once  she  had 
bought  for  them  a  whole  nickel's  worth  of 
candy  and  had  bestowed  this  great  treat 
with  the  words,  "And  how  could  I  be 
183 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

havin'  geese  only  for  the  little  b'ys  ?  You'll 
jist  be  givin'  Larry  a  bit,  for  sure  and  he'll 
be  past  four  nixt  summer,  and  helpin'  you 
loike  anything." 

The  candy,  like  the  summer,  was  only 
a  memory  now,  but,  without  putting  their 
hope  into  words,  there  lingered  in  the 
minds  of  the  two  an  anticipation  of  more 
candy  to  come. 

As  for  Larry,  he  lived  from  day  to  day 
and  took  whatever  came  his  way  cheerfully, 
which  he  might  well  do,  since  he  was  a 
general  pet  wherever  he  was  known. 

But  now  a  new  difficulty  confronted  the 
widow.  Snowtime  had  come.  How  was 
she  to  get  Larry  along  to  her  wash  places? 
She  was  sitting  late  one  Friday  afternoon 
thinking  about  it.  All  day  the  snow  had 
been  falling,  and  many  times,  in  the  early 
dusk,  had  Jim  been  out  to  measure  the 
depth  with  his  legs.  And  each  time  he 
returned  he  had  worn  a  more  gratified 
smile. 

"Well,  Jim,"  said  his  mother  finally, 
"you  do  be  grinnin'  foine  ivery  toime  you 
184 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

come  in,  and  a  lot  of  wet  you're  bringin' 
with  you,  too,  a-stampin'  the  snow  off  on 
the  floor.  You'll  remimber  that  toimes  are 
changed.  Wanst  it  was  old  men  as  had 
the  rheumatism,  but  now  b'ys  can  have  it, 
to  say  nothin'  of  colds  and  sore  throats  and 
doctors'  bills.  You'll  stay  in  now.  The 
snow  can  deepen  without  you,  I'm 
thinkin'." 

Thus  admonished,  Jim  went  with  a  bad 
grace  to  wash  his  hands,  and  then  to  set 
the  table  for  supper. 

Presently  in  came  Pat. 

"  Where's  the  clothes  basket,  mother?  " 
he  inquired.  "  I'll  be  bringing  in  the 
clothes  from  the  line  for  you." 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  handed  him  the  bas- 
ket with  a  smile,  and  out  went  Mr.  Farn- 
ham's  newest  clerk  to  the  summer  kitchen, 
under  whose  roof  the  line  was  stretched  in 
parallel  lengths. 

"  I  couldn't  be  dryin'  the  clothes  in  the 

house  with  no  place  to  put  'em,  but  the 

new    kitchen's    the    thing,    so    'tis,"    the 

mother  had  said.    "  Clothes  will  dry  there 

185 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

famous,  'specially  when  it's  rainin'  or 
snowin'.  Pat  and  Moike  did  a  good  thing 
when  they  made  it.  I've  heard  tell  of 
them  as  has  dryin'  rooms  for  winter,  and 
'tis  mysilf  has  wan  of  'em." 

These  were  the  words  that  had  caused 
Pat  to  smile  with  pleasure,  and  had  stirred 
Mike's  heart  with  determination  to  do  yet 
more  for  his  mother.  And  that  same 
evening  the  widow's  sturdy  second  son 
came  to  the  shanty,  and  behind  him  on  the 
snow  bumped  and  slid  his  newest  handi- 
work— a  sled  for  Larry  to  ride  on. 

"And  what  have  you  got  there  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan  when  he  dragged  it  into 
the  house. 

"A  sled!"  cried  Barney  and  Tommie 
together,  pausing  on  their  bedward  way, 
and  opening  wide  their  sleepy  eyes. 

"And  'twas  mysilf  was  wonderin'  how 
to  get  Larry  along  with  me!  "  exclaimed 
the  mother  when  Mike  had  explained  the 
object  of  the  sled.  "What's  the  good  of 
me  wonderin'  when  I've  got  Moike  for 
my  b'y?  'Twas  his  father  as  would  have 

186 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

made  a  sled  jist  loike  it,  I'm  thinkin'.  But 
Moike,"  as  she  saw  the  light  of  affection 
in  his  eyes,  "you'll  be  spoilin'  me.  Soon 
I'll  not  be  wonderin'  any  more,  but  I'll  be 
sayin',  f  Moike  will  fix  it  some  way." 

"  Will  you,  mother  ? "  cried  the  boy. 
"Will  you  promise  me  that?" 

"Moike!  Moike!"  said  the  widow, 
touched  by  his  eager  look  and  tone,  "what 
a  b'y  you  are  for  questions !  Would  I  be 
layin'  all  my  burdens  on  you,  when  it's  six 
brothers  you've  got?  'Twouldn't  be  fair 
to  you.  But  to  know  you're  so  ready  and 
willin'  loightens  my  ivery  load,  and  it's  a 
comfort  you  are  to  me.  Your  father  was 
always  for  makin'  easy  toimes  for  other 
people,  and  you're  loike  him,  Moike.  And 
now  I've  something  else  to  be  talkin'  of. 
Will  you  be  havin'  the  goose  for  Gineral 
and  Mrs.  Brady  to-morrow?" 

"  I  will,  mother,"  answered  Mike  re- 
spectfully. 

"  Then,  Moike,  when  you  get  ready  to 
go  back,  you'll  foind  the  foinest  wan  of  the 
lot  all  by  himsilf  in  a  box  Pat  brought  from 
187 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  store.  Mr.  Farnham  give  it  to  him, 
though  he  mostly  sells  'em.  And  I've 
larned  that  goose  to  slape  in  it,  so  I  have, 
and  an  awful  job  it  was,  too.  Geese  and 
pigs  now,  Moike,  are  slow  to  larn.  But 
he  knows  his  place  at  last,  so  he  does,  and 
you'll  foind  him  in  it." 

Then  catching  sight,  around  the  corner 
of  the  table,  of  the  enraptured  two  on  the 
kitchen  floor  busy  over  the  new  family 
treasure,  she  cried:  "Now,  Barney  and 
Tommie,  to  bed  with  you,  and  dream  of 
havin'  the  sled  Saturdays,  for  that's  what 
you  shall  have.  'Tis  Moike  makes  the 
treats  for  us  all." 

That  evening  at  half-past  nine  there 
was  a  knock  on  the  sitting-room  door. 

"Come!"  called  the  General. 

The  door  opened  and  in  walked  Mike 
with  the  sleek  goose  under  his  arm. 

"My  mother's  sending  you  a  goose, 
Mrs.  Brady,"  he  said  with  a  bow. 

The  Bradys  were  already  much  attached 
to  Mike  ;  and  the  General  had  been  heard 

188 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  say  that  the  very  name  of  O'Callaghan 
seemed  to  be  a  certificate  of  worthiness.  So 
the  goose  was  made  much  of  and  the  next 
time  Mike  went  home  he  carried  a  bunch 
of  roses  from  Mrs.  Brady. 

"  And  sure  'tis  roses  as  are  the  gift  of  a 
lady  !  "  cried  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  receiving 
the  flowers  with  an  air  of  pride.  "There's 
some  as  would  have  took  the  goose  as  their 
due  and  have  made  you  feel  loike  dirt  un- 
der their  feet  while  they  was  takin'  it.  But 
the  General  and  Mrs.  Brady  are  quite  an- 
other sort.  And  it's  proud  I  am  that  they 
et  the  goose  and  found  it  good.  Though 
it  wouldn't  have  been  good  nayther  if  you 
hadn't  cooked  it  good,  Moike.  There's 
them  as  can  cook  'most  anything  and  have 
it  good,  jist  as  there's  them  as  can  spoil  the 
best.  And  now,  Moike,  I've  news  for 
you.  But  first  do  you  notice  how  clean 
Jim  kapes  things  ?  Him  and  Andy  makes 
a  foine  team,  so  they  do." 

Mike  looked  about  him  with  a  critical 
air  that  increased  in  mock  severity  as  he 
saw  little  Jim  rapidly  donning  his  regalia  of 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

importance.  "  See  a  speck  of  dust  if  you 
can,"  spoke  Jim's  look.  And  then  Mike 
was  lavish  with  his  praise. 

"You  don't  kape  Mrs.  Brady's  things 
no  cleaner,  do  you,  Moike  ?  " 

"  I  don't,  mother,  for  I  can't,"  was  the 
answer.  Hearing  which,  Jim  became  pom- 
pous, and  the  widow  judged  that  she  might 
tell  her  news  without  unduly  rousing  up 
his  jealousy. 

"  Well,  then,  Moike,  you'll  niver  be 
guessin'  the  news,  only  maybe  you've 
heard  it  already,  for  'tis  school  news. 
Andy's  to  be  set  ahead  of  his  class  into 
the  nixt  higher  wan.  It's  proud  I  am,  for 
ivery  family  needs  a  scholar,  so  it  does." 

Mike  turned  upon  Andy  a  look  of 
affectionate  interest.  "  I  hadn't  heard  your 
news,  mother,  but  it's  good  news,  and  I'm 
glad  to  hear  it,"  he  said  heartily. 

"I  knowed  you  would  be  glad,  Moike, 
for  'tis  yoursilf  as  sees  that  when  your 
brother  gets  up  you  get  up  with  him.  It's 
bad  when  wan  brother  thinks  to  be  gettin' 
ahead  of  all  the  rest."  And  she  looked 
190 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

gravely  at  Jim.  "  Brothers  are  made  each 
wan  to  do  his  part,  and  be  glad  when  wan 
and  another  gets  up." 

But  little  Jim  appeared  discontented. 
All  this  praise  of  Andy  quite  took  the 
edge  off  what  he  himself  had  received. 
His  mother  sighed. 

"  But  I'll  not  give  him  up  yet,"  she 
thought  after  a  moment.  "  No,  I'll  not 
give  him  up,  for  he's  Tim's  b'y,  though 
most  unlike  him.  I  do  moind  hearin' 
wanst  that  Tim  had  a  brother  of  that  sort. 
Jim's  loike  him,  no  doubt,  and  he  come 
to  a  bad  end,  so  he  did,  a-gettin'  to  be  an 
agitator,  as  they  calls  'em.  And  sure  what's 
an  agitator  but  wan  that's  sour  at  ivery- 
body's  good  luck  but  his  own,  and  his  own 
good  luck  turnin'  out  bad  on  account  of 
laziness  and  consate?  I'm  needin'  more 
wisdom  than  I've  got  when  I'd  be  dealin' 
with  Jim." 

While  the  mother  sat  silent  her    sons 

were  talking  together  in  low  tones.    Andy 

and    Jim   told   of   the    rabbits    they   had 

trapped  in  the  hazel  brush,  and  how  they 

191 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

had  eaten  some  and  some  they  had  sold 
in  the  stores.  And  Mike,  in  his  turn,  told 
them  how  many  rabbits  there  were  in  the 
Brady  neighborhood,  and  how  nobody 
seemed  to  wish  to  have  them  disturbed. 

"  What  are  they  good  for,  if  you  can't 
catch  'em  ?  "  asked  Jim,  who  could  never 
catch  enough. 

"  Good  to  look  pretty  hopping  about,  I 
guess,"  responded  Mike. 

"  Huh!  "  exclaimed  Jim,  who,  like  many 
a  one  older  than  he,  had  small  respect  for 
opinions  that  clashed  with  his  own. 

"  He'll  be  turnin'  to  be  an  agitator  sure, 
only  maybe  I  can  head  him  off,"  thought 
the  mother,  who  had  been  idly  listening. 

"Jim,"  she  said,  "  'twas  your  father  as 
was  iver  for  hearin'  both  sides  of  ivery- 
thing.  If  there's  them  that  thinks  rabbits 
looks  pretty  jumpin'  around,  why,  no 
doubt  they  do.  'Tisn't  iverybody  that's 
trappin',  you'll  moind.  If  you  was  a 
horse  now,  you'd  be  called  strong  in  the 
mouth,  and  you'd  need  a  firm  hand  on  the 
lines.  And  if  you'd  been  brung  up  among 
192 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

horses,  as  your  father  was,  you'd  know  as 

them  obstinate  wans  as  wants  the  bits  in 

their  teeth  are  the  wans  as  gets  the  beatin's. 

You're  no  horse,  but  things 

will  go  crossways  to  you  all 

your  loife  if  you  don't  do 

different.       When    there's 

nayther  roight   nor  wrong 

in  the  matter  let  iverybody 

have  their  own  way." 

And    then    little    Jim 
became  downright  sulky. 

"  Rabbits  is  for  trap-  \ 
pin',"  he  said  stubbornly. 

"  Well,  well,"  thought  the 
widow,  "I'll  have  to  be  waitin' 
a  bit.  But  I'll  be  makin' 
something  out  of  Jim  yet." 

Then  she  turned  to   Mike. 
"And  how  are  you  comin'  on 
at    the    Gineral's?"     she    in- 
quired.   "  It's  hopin'  I  am  you're  watchin' 
him  close  and  larnin'  to  be  loike  him." 

"  I'm  trying,  mother,"  was  the  modest 
answer. 

193 


Little  Jim  became 
downright  sulky." 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  nodded  approvingly. 
"  A  pattern's  a  good  thing  for  us  all  to  go 
by,"  she  said.  "Your  father's  gone,  and 
you  can  only  be  loike  him  by  heedin'  to 
what  I'm  tellin'  you  about  him.  But  the 
Gineral  you  can  see  for  yoursilves.  If  you 
can  get  to  be  loike  your  father  and  the 
Gineral  both,  it's  proud  I'll  be  of  you. 
And  I  will  say  that  you're  a-comin'  to  it, 
Moike. 

"And  there's  another  thing.  The  little 
b'ys  has  their  chance,  too.  And  it's  because 
Andy  here  takes  as  natural  to  bein'  a  gin- 
tleman  as  thim  geese  takes  to  squawkin'. 
Whether  it's  loikin'  his  book  or  what  it  is, 
he's  the  wan  to  have  handy  for  the  little 
b'ys  to  pattern  by.  As  far  as  he's  gone  he 
knows,  and  he  can't  be  beat  in  knowin' 
how  to  treat  other  folks  nice.  And  he's 
that  quiet  about  what  he  knows  that  you 
wouldn't  think  he  knows  anything  only 
for  seem'  him  act  it  out." 

And  now  little  Jim  was  completely 
miserable.  Constantly  craving  praise  was 


194 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

little  Jim,  and  the  loss  of  it  was  torture  to 
him.  The  widow  glanced  at  him  out  of 
the  corner  of  her  eye.  She  saw  it  was 
time  to  relieve  him. 

"But  there's  wan  thing  Jim's  got  that 
no  other  wan  of  my  b'ys  has,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

Jim  pricked  up  his  ears. 

"  He's  the  born  foighter,  is  Jim.  If  he 
was  big  now,  and  there  was  a  war  to  come, 
he'd  be  a  soldier,  I'm  thinkin'.  He's  for 
foightin'  iverything,  even  the  words  of  a 
body's  mouth." 

This  praise  might  be  equivocal,  but 
little  Jim  did  not  so  understand  it,  and 
his  pride  returned. 

His  mother  observed  it.  "  But  what 
you  need,  Jim,"  she  went  on,  "  is  to  be 
takin'  a  tuck  in  yoursilf.  Look  at  the 
Gineral.  Does  he  go  foightin'  in  toimes 
of  peace?  That  he  don't.  Will  you  look 
at  the  Gineral,  Jim  ?  " 

Now  Pat  and  Mike  had  been  instructed 
to  look  at  the  General  as  their  pattern. 


195 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

This  appeal  was  placing  Jim  alongside  of 
his  two  big  brothers. 

"Will  you  look  at  the  Gineral,  Jim?" 
repeated  Mrs.  O'Callahan. 

"  T  will,"  said  Jim. 


196 


CHAPTER  XV 

Jim  was  enterprising.  Far  more  enter- 
prising than  anybody  gave  him  credit  for. 
He  had  been  set  to  copy  the  General,  and 
that  night  as  he  lay  down  to  sleep  he  re- 
solved to  outdo  Pat  and  Mike.  The  lit- 
tle boys  were  insignificant  in  his  eyes  as  he 
thought  of  what  was  before  him,  and  even 

O  ' 

Andy  offered  small  food  for  jealousy.  To 
excel  the  two  big  boys  was  worth  trying  for. 

Now  the  General  was  more  familiar  to 
Jim's  ears  than  to  his  eyes.  He  at  once 
resolved  to  remedy  that. 

"I'll  have  to  be  followin'  him  around 
and  be  seein'  how  he  does,  so  I  will,"  he 
told  himself.  "  And  I'll  have  to  be  gettin' 
my  work  done  quick  to  be  doin'  it." 

Accordingly  he  hustled  through  the  dish- 
washing at  a  great  rate  the  next  morning, 
for  his  mother  had  lately  decided  that  he 
might  wash  the  dishes  as  well  as  wipe  them. 
197 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

The  dusting,  usually  carefully  done,  was  a 
whisk  here  and  a  wipe  there  in  the  most 
exposed  places.  By  such  means  did  he 
obtain  a  half  hour  of  extra  time,  and  off  he 
went  up  the  railroad  track  on  his  way  to 
General  Brady's.  He  soon  came  to  the 
point  where  he  must  leave  the  track  for 
the  street,  and,  the  street  being  compara- 
tively unused  and  so  without  a  pavement, 
he  was  compelled  to  wade  the  snow.  Into 
it  with  his  short  legs  he  plunged,  only 
anxious  to  reach  the  house  before  the  Gen- 
eral started  down  town.  And  he  was  al- 
most out  of  breath  when  he  came  to  the 
corner  and  turned  south  on  the  cleared 
sidewalk.  On  he  hurried  and  around  to 
the  kitchen  door. 

"  Is  he  gone  ?  "  he  inquired,  poking  his 
head  into  the  room  where  his  brother  was 
busily  washing  dishes. 

Mike  stared.  The  door  had  opened  so 
softly,  the  words  were  so  breathless,  and 
the  little  boy  so  very  red  in  the  face. 
"Who?"  he  asked  in  astonishment. 

"  The  Gineral,"  said  Jim  impatiently. 
198 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Just  going,"  returned  Mike.  And  at 
the  words  Jim  was  out  with  the  door  shut 
behind  him. 

"  What's  got  into  little  Jim  ?  "  thought 
Mike.  Out  of  the  yard  flew  Jim,  and  took 
on  an  air  of  indifferent  loitering  as  he 
waited.  Yes,  there  came  the  General.  How 
broad  his  shoulders  were!  How  straight 
his  back  !  How  firm  his  tread!  At  sight 
of  all  this  little  Jim  squared  himself  and, 
a  half  block  in  the  rear,  walked  imitatively 
down  the  street.  It  was  all  very  well  for 
his  mother  to  say  that  Jim  was  a  born 
fighter.  But  she  had  entirely  overlooked 
the  fact  that  he  was  a  born  mimic  also. 

Here  and  there  a  smiling  girl  ran  to  the 
window  to  gaze  after  the  two  as  they 
passed  —  the  stately  old  General  and  his 
ridiculous  little  copy.  But  it  was  when 
they  neared  the  square  that  the  guffaws  be- 
gan. The  General,  being  slightly  deaf, 
did  not  notice,  and  little  Jim  was  so  intent 
on  following  copy  that  he  paid  no  atten- 
tion. Thus  they  went  the  entire  length  of 
the  east  side  of  the  square,  and  then  along 
199 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  south  side  until,  at  the  southwest  cor- 
ner, the  old  soldier  disappeared  in  the  door- 
way of  the  bank.  By  this  time  little  Jim's 
shoulders  were  aching  from  the  restraint 
put  upon  them,  for  Jim  was  not  naturally 
erect.  And  his  long  walk  at  what  was,  to 
him,  an  usually  slow  pace  had  made  his 
nose  blue  with  cold.  But  instead  of  run- 
ning off  to  get  warm  he  pressed  close 
against  the  big  window  and  peered  in  at 
his  pattern.  He  knew  his  back  and  his 
walk  now,  and  he  wanted  to  see  his  face. 

Presently  one  of  the  amused  spectators 
stepped  into  the  bank  and  spoke  a  few 
words  to  its  president,  and  the  General 
turned  to  look  at  the  little  fellow. 

"  Who  is  he  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  One  of  your  O'Callaghans,  General," 
was  the  laughing  answer. 

The  General  flushed.  Then  he  beck- 
oned to  Jim,  who  immediately  came  in. 

"  Go  back  to  the  stove  and  get  warm, 
my  boy,"  he  said.  "  You  look  cold." 

Jim  obeyed  and  presently  the  General's 
friend  went  out. 

200 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Now,  my  boy,"  said  the  General,  walk- 
ing back  to  the  stove,  "what  did  you  mean 
by  following  me?" 

Little  Jim's  blue  eyes  looked  up  into  the 
blue  eyes  of  the  old  soldier.  "  Our  eyes 
is  the  same  color,"  he  thought.  And  then 
he  answered:  "  My  mother  told  me  to  be 
makin'  a  pattern  out  of  you.  She  told  the 
same  to  Pat  and  Mike,  too,  and  I'm  goin' 
to  do  it  better  than  they  do,  see  if  I  don't. 
Why,  they  don't  walk  fine  and  straight 
like  you  do.  But  I  can  do  it.  I  larned 
this  morning." 

The  General  laughed.  "  And  what  were 
you  peering  in  at  the  window  for?" 

"  Sure  and  I  wanted  to  be  watchin'  your 
face,  so  I  did.  'Tis  my  mother  as  says  I'm 
the  born  fighter,  and  she  says,  '  Look  at 
the  General.  Does  he  be  goin'  round 
fightin'  in  times  of  peace  ?  That  he  don't.' 
And  she  wants  me  to  be  like  you  and  I'm 
goin'  to  be." 

"  What's  your  name  ?  " 

"Jim." 

"Well,  Jim,  I  don't  think  your  mother 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

meant  that  you  should  follow  me  through 
the  street  and  try  to  walk  like  me.  And 
you  must  not  do  so  any  more." 

"But  I  knows  how  now,  sir,"  objected 
Jim,  who  was  loth  to  discard  his  new  ac- 
complishment. 

"Nevertheless  you  must  not  follow  me 
about  and  imitate  my  movements  any 
more,"  forbade  the  General. 

"  And  how  am  I  to  be  like  you  then,  if 
you  won't  let  me  do  the  way  you  do?  " 

For  a  moment  the  General  seemed  per- 
plexed. Then  he  opened  the  door  and 
motioned  Jim  out.  "  Ask  your  mother," 
he  said. 

"  I  won't,"  declared  little  Jim  obsti- 
nately, when  he  found  himself  in  the  street. 
"I  won't  ask  her." 

But  he  did.  The  coasting  was  excellent 
on  a  certain  hill,  and  the  hill  was  only  a 
short  distance  northwest  of  the  O'Calla- 
ghan  home. 

"  'Twill  do  Andy  good  to  have  a  bit  of 
a  change  and  eat  wanst  of  a  supper  he  ain't 
cooked,"  the  widow  had  said.  And  so  it 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

was  that  she  was  alone,  save  for  Larry, 
when  Jim  came  in  after  school.  Presently 
the  whole  affair  of  the  morning  came  out, 
and  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  listened  with  horri- 
fied ears. 

"  And  do  you  know  how  that  looked  to 
them  that  seen  you  ?  "  she  asked  severely. 
"Sure  and  it  looked  loike  you  was  makin' 
fun  of  the  Gineral." 

"  But  I  wasn't,"  protested  little  Jim. 

"  Sure  and  don't  I  know  that?  Would  a 
b'y  of  mine  be  makin'  fun  of  Gineral 
Brady?" 

"  He  said  I  wasn't  to  do  it  no  more," 
confided  little  Jim  humbly. 

The  widow  nodded  approbation.  "  And 
what  did  you  say  then  ? "  she  asked. 

"I  says  to  him,  'How  can  I  get  to  be 
like  you,  sir,  when  you  won't  let  me  do 
the  way  you  do? " 

"And  then?" 

"Then  he  opened  the  door,  and  his 
hand  said,  'Go  outside.'  And  just  as  I 
was  goin'  he  said,  'Ask  your  mother.' ' 

"'Twasn't  for  naught  he  got  made  a 
203 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

gineral,"  commented  Mrs.  O'Callaghan. 
"  'Tis  himsilf  as  knows  a  b'y's  mother  is 
the  wan.  For  who  is  it  else  can  see  how 
he's  so  full  of  brag  he's  loike  to  boorst  and 
a-wantin'  to  do  big  things  till  he  can't  dust 
good  nor  wash  the  plates  clean?  Dust 
on  the  father's  chair,  down  on  the  rockers 
where  you  thought  it  wouldn't  show,  and 
egg  on  the  plates,  and  them  piled  so  slick 
wan  on  top  of  the  other  and  lookin'  as  in- 
nocent as  if  they  felt  thimsilves  quite  clean. 
Ah,  Jim!  Jim!" 

The  widow's  fourth  son  blushed.  He 
cast  a  hasty  glance  over  the  room  and  was 
relieved  to  see  that  Larry,  his  mother's 
only  other  auditor,  was  playing  busily  in  a 
corner. 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  went  on.  She  had 
Jim  all  to  herself  and  she  meant  to  im- 
prove her  chance. 

"  You  haint  got  the  hang  of  this  ambi- 
tion business,  Jim.  That's  the  trouble. 
You're  always  tryin'  to  do  some  big  thing 
and  beat  somebody.  'Tis  well  you  should 
know  the  Lord  niver  puts  little  b'ys  and 
204 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

big  jobs  together.  He  gives  the  little  b'ys 
a  chance  at  the  little  jobs,  and  them  as  does 
the  little  jobs  faithful  gets  to  be  the  men 
that  does  the  big  jobs  easy." 

Jim  now  sought  to  turn  the  conversa- 
tion, the  doctrine  of  faithfulness  in  small 
things  not  being  at  all  to  his  taste.  "  And 
will  /  be  havin'  a  bank,  too,  like  the  Gin- 
eral?"  he  asked. 

His  mother  looked  at  him.  "  There 
you  go  again,  Jim,"  she  said.  "And  sure 
how  can  I  tell  whether  you'll  have  a  bank 
or  not  ?  'Tisn't  all  the  good  foightin'  men 
as  has  banks.  But  you  might  try  for  it. 
And  if  you've  got  a  bank  in  your  eye, 
you'd  best  pay  particular  attintion  to  your 
dustin*  and  your  dishwashin'.  Them's 
your  two  first  steps." 

Little  Jim  pondered  as  well  as  he  was 
able.  It  seemed  to  him  that  the  first  steps 
to  everything  in  life,  according  to  his 
mother,  were  dusting  and  dishwashing. 
His  face  was  downcast  and  he  put  the 
dishes  on  the  table  in  an  absent-minded 
way. 

205 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"What  are  you  thinkin'  about,  Jim?" 
asked  his  mother  after  many  a  sidelong 
glance  at  him.  "  Cheer  up  !  " 

"Ain't  there  no  other  first  steps  ? "  he 
asked  gloomily. 

"  Not  for  you,  Jim.  And  it's  lucky  you 
are  that  you  don't  loike  the  dustin'  and 
the  dishwashin'." 

Jim  was  evidently  mystified. 

"  Because,  do  you  see,  Jim,  iverybody 
has  got  to  larn  sooner  or  later  to  do  things 
they  don't  loike  to  do.  You've  begun  in 
toime,  so  you  have,  and,  if  you  kape  on, 
you  can  get  a  lot  of  it  done  before  you 
come  to  the  place  where  you  can  do  what 
you  loike,  such  as  kapin'  a  bank  and  that. 
But  it's  no  business.  The  Gineral's  busi- 
ness was  foightin',  you  know.  He  kapes 
a  bank  jist  to  pass  the  toime." 

Little  Jim's  eyes  widened.  Here  was  a 
new  outlook  for  him. 

"  But  you  must  do  'em  good,"  admon- 
ished his  mother.  "There's  nothin'  but 
bad  luck  goes  with  poor  dustin'  and  dirty 
dishwashin'.  And  spakin'  of  luck,  it's 
206 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

lucky  you  are  I  caught  you  at  it  the  first 
toime  you  done  'em  bad,  for,  do  you  see, 
I'll  be  lookin'  out  for  you  now  for  a  good 
bit  jist  to  be  seein'  that  you're  a  b'y  that 
can  be  trusted.  It's  hopin'  I  am  you'll  be 
loike  your  father,  for  'twas  your  father  as 
could  be  trusted  ivery  toime.  And  now 
I've  a  plan  for  you.  We'll  be  havin' 
Moike  to  show  you  how  they  lays  the 
table  at  the  Gineral's.  'Twill  be  a  foine 
thing  for  you  to  larn,  and  'twill  surprise 
Pat,  and  be  a  good  thing  for  the  little  b'ys 
to  see.  Them  little  b'ys  don't  get  the 
chance  to  see  much  otherwheres,  and  they'll 
have  to  be  larnin'  their  manners  to  home, 
so  they  will.  Pat  and  Moike  with  the 
good  manners  about  eatin'  they've  larned 
at  the  Gineral's,  and  the  little  b'ys  without  a 
manner  to  their  back !  Sure  and  'twill  be 
a  lesson  to  'em  to  see  the  table  when  you've 
larned  to  set  it  roight." 

Jim  brightened  at  once.     He  had  had 

so  much  lesson  himself  to-day  that  it  was 

a  great  pleasure  to   think  of  his   younger 

brothers  being  instructed  in  their  turn.   In 

207 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

they  came  at  that  moment,  their  red  little 
hands  tingling  with  cold.     But  they  were 
hilarious,  for  kind-hearted  Andy  had  taken 
them  to  the  hill,  and 
over  and  over  they 
had  whizzed    down 
its  long  length 
with  him.     At 
another      time 
Jim   might   have 
been  jealous;   but 
to-night     he    re- 
garded   them    from 
the  vantage  ground 
of  his  superior  in- 
formation   concern- 
ing   them.       They 
were  to  be  instructed. 
And  Jim  knew  it,  if 
they  did   not.      He 
placed     the     chairs 

with  dignity,  and  hoped  instruction  might 
prove  as  unwelcome  to  Barney  and  Tom- 
mie  as  it  was  to  him.  And  as  they 
jounced  down  into  their  seats  the  moment 
208 


"In  they  came  at  that  moment.' 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  steaming  supper  was  put  upon  the 
table,  and  gazed  at  it  with  eager,  hungry 
eyes,  and  even  gave  a  sniff  or  two,  he  felt 
that  here  was  a  field  for  improvement,  in- 
deed. And  he  smiled.  Not  that  Jim  was 
a  bad  boy,  or  a  malicious  one,  but  when 
Barney  and  Tommie  were  wrong,  it  was 
the  thing  that  they  should  be  set  right, 
of  course. 


209 


CHAPTER  XVI 

Pat  had  now  been  in  Mr.  Farnham's 
employ  two  months  and  more,  and  never 
had  his  faithfulness  slackened.  He  had 
caught  the  knack  of  measuring  goods 
easily  and  tying  up  packages  neatly.  He 
could  run  off  a  length  of  calico  and  dis- 
play it  to  any  customer  that  came  to  him, 
and  what  most  endeared  him  to  Mr. 
Farnham  was  that  he  could  sell. 

"  Best  clerk  I  ever  had,"  the  merchant 
told  himself.  But  he  did  not  advance 
this  "best  clerk"  although  Pat  longed  and 
hoped  for  promotion.  Upon  every  op- 
portunity he  studied  dress  goods  at  the 
front  end  of  the  store,  and  carpets  and 
cloaks  at  the  rear.  And  day  by  day  he 
went  on  patiently  selling  prints,  ginghams 
and  muslins. 

"  'Tis  the  best  things  as  are  longest 
a-comin'  sometimes,"  said  his  mother  en- 

2IO 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

couragingly.  "  Are  you  sellin"  what 
you've  got  as  well  as  you  know  how  ? " 

"  I  am,  mother." 

"  Well,  if  you  are,  be  sure  Mr.  Farn- 
ham  knows  it,  and,  by  the  same  token, 
he'd  be  knowin'  it  if  you  was  gapin'  in 
the  customers'  faces  or  hummin'  or  whis- 
tlin'  soft  loike  while  you  waited  on  'em. 
Mr.  Wall  had  a  clerk  wanst  that  done 
that  way.  I've  seen  him.  And,  by  the 
same  token,  he  ain't  got  him  now.  Ladies 
don't  care  for  hummin'  and  whistlin' 
when  they're  buyin'  goods." 

And  now  trade  was  growing  heavier. 
The  other  clerks  were  overburdened, 
while  Pat  in  his  humble  place  had  little  to 
do.  Suddenly  there  came  a  call  for  him 
at  the  dress  counter.  A  lady  had  come 
in  and  both  the  other  clerks  were  busy. 
She  was  one  who  continually  lamented  in 
an  injured  tone  of  voice  that  she  lived  in 
so  small  a  town  as  Wennott,  and  she 
rarely  made  purchases  there.  Her  name 
was.  Mrs.  Pomeroy. 

"  Let  us  see  if  Pat  sells   her  anything. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

It  will  be  a  wonder  if  he  does,"  thought 
Mr.   Farnham. 

Languidly  Mrs.  Pomeroy  examined 
this  and  that  in  an  uninterested  way,  and 
all  the  time  Pat  was  paying  the  closest  at- 
tention, trying  to  discover  just  what  she 
wanted.  His  heart  was  beating  fast.  If 
only  he  could  make  a  sale,  what  might  it 
not  mean  to  him? 

"  Here  is  a  pattern  for  a  street  dress, 
madam."  Pat's  voice  was  musical,  and 
his  manner  most  respectful.  Mrs.  Pom- 
eroy felt  interested  and  attracted  at  once. 
She  looked  on  while  Pat  drew  out  the 
dress  pattern  from  its  box,  displaying  to 
advantage  its  soft  coloring  and  fine  tex- 
ture. 

Mrs.  Pomeroy  put  her  head  on  one  side 
and  regarded  it  through  half-shut  eyes. 

"  The  only  pattern  of  exactly  its  sort 
and  color,"  said  the  persuasive  voice  of 
Pat.  He  had  learned  from  the  other 
clerks  that  this  was  a  great  recommenda- 
tion to  a  piece  of  goods  and  helped  to 
sell  it. 

212 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mrs.  Pomeroy  reflected. 

She  asked  the  price  and  reflected  again, 
and  all  the  time  she  noticed  that  Pat's  in- 
terest was  real  and  not  simulated;  that  he 
was  doing  his  best  to  please  her.  She 
liked  the  goods,  but  not  better  than  a  pat- 
tern she  had  seen  at  Wall's.  But  Wall's 
clerks  were  inattentive  and  indifferent. 
They  had  an  air  that  said  "There  are  the 
goods.  Buy  'em  or  leave  'em.  'Tis 
nothing  to  us." 

She  was  thinking  of  this  as  well  as  of 
the  dress  goods  before  her  and  finally  she 
said,  "  You  may  wrap  the  pattern  up.  I 
will  take  it." 

Then  did  Pat's  eyes  dance  with  delight, 
and  he  thought  of  his  mother.  But  it 
was  only  a  glancing  thought,  for  in  a  sec- 
ond he  was  saying:  "  Mr.  Farnham  has 
gloves  to  match." 

"  I  will  look  at  them." 

To    look   was  to  buy  when    Pat  was 
salesman,  and,  in  a  few  moments,  the  hap- 
piest clerk  in  the  store,  Pat  walked  mod- 
estly back  to  his  own  place. 
213 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Well  done,  Pat!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Farnham,  going  up  to  him.  "  I  wish  you 
would  keep  an  eye  on  the  dress  counter, 
and,  whenever  another  clerk  is  needed, 
attend  there." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  answered  Pat  gratefully. 

Three  times  more  was  Pat  needed  be- 
fore the  day  closed,  and  every  time  he 
made  a  good  sale. 

As  usual  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  was  waiting 
alone  for  Pat.  She  was  extremely  tired 
and  almost  despondent.  For  to  earn 
what  she  could  and  keep  her  sons  up  to 
the  mark  she  had  set  for  them  was  a 
great  strain  on  her.  And  she  missed  her 
husband.  More  and  more  she  missed 
him.  "Ah,  Tim!"  she  cried,  "'twas  a 
great  thing  you  done  for  me  when  you 
taught  our  b'ys  that  moind  me  they  must 
and  that  without  questions  about  it.  Only 
for  that  I  couldn't  do  much  with  'em. 
And  without  you  it's  hard  enough,  so  it 
is.  I  hain't  never  laid  finger  on  wan  of 
'em,  and  I  won't  nayther,  for  sure  they're 
not  beasts  but  b'ys.  I  mistrust  my  hard- 
214 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

est  toimes  are  ahead  of  me.  Pat  and 
Moike  and  Andy  don't  trouble  me  none. 
Sure  and  a  bloind  man  can  see  them  three 
is  all  roight.  But  Jim  and  Barney  and 
Tommie  and  Larry  now — how  can  I  be 
tellin'  what's  comin'  of  them?  And  I  can't 
set  the  big  b'ys  over  'em  only  to  take  care 
of  'em  loike,  for  sure  b'ys  as  are  worth  any- 
thing won't  be  bossed  by  their  big  broth- 
ers. They  sees  the  unfairness  of  it." 

And  then  intruding  upon  her  thoughts 
came  a  boy's  merry  whistle;  a  whistle  that 
told  of  a  heart  where  happiness  was  bub- 
bling up  and  overflowing,  and  the  whist- 
ling came  nearer  and  nearer. 

"  Whativer  do  be  makin'  Pat  come 
home  with  a  tune  loike  that  ?"  she  asked. 
And  she  half  rose  as  Pat's  hand  opened 
the  door  and  the  tall  young  fellow  stepped 
in.  The  tiny  lamp  was  very  bright,  and 
in  its  light  the  boy's  eyes  were  brilliant. 

"Well,  Pat!"  exclaimed  his  mother. 
"  The  lamp's  but  a  poor  match  for  your 
eyes  to-night.  You've  got  news  for  me. 
What  is  it  ?  " 

215 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

And  Pat  told  with  an  eager  tongue 
how,  at  last,  he  had  a  chance  to  attend  at 
the  dress  counter  when  the  two  regular 
clerks  there  were  busy  and  another  one 
was  needed. 

The  widow  was  silent  a  moment.  It 
was  not  quite  what  she  had  hoped  to  hear, 
knowing  her  Pat  as  she  did,  but  she  was 
determined  to  keep  her  son's  courage  up. 
So  she  said,  "  Well,  then,  if  you've  got 
so  far,  it  rests  with  yoursilf  to  go  farther. 
'Tis  a  blessed  thing  that  there  are  such  a 
many  things  in  this  world  a-restin'  on  a 
body's  lone  silf.  But  there's  them  that 
niver  foinds  it  out,  and  that  goes  about 
layin'  their  own  blame  here,  there  and 
yon." 

Pat's  elation  lasted  him  overnight  and 
even  well  on  into  the  next  day.  And 
that  day  was  more  wonderful  than  the  one 
before  it.  For,  about  the  middle  of  the 
forenoon,  General  Brady  came  into  the 
store  and  walked  back  to  Mr.  Farnham's 
desk,  giving  Pat  a  smile  and  a  bow  as  he 
passed  him,  and  receiving  in  return  an  af- 
216 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

fectionate  look.  The  one  evening  a  week 
with  the  General  had  not  served  to  dimin- 
ish the  boy's  fondness  for  him,  but  it  had 
served  to  make  Pat  a  greater  favorite  than 
ever  with  the  old  soldier. 

"Mr.  Farnham,"  said  the  General,  after 
a  few  pleasant  words  had  been  exchanged, 
"  Mr.  Wall  offers  thirty  dollars  a  month 
for  Pat.  Do  you  wish  to  keep  him  ? " 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  come  up  to 
Wall's  offer  if  I  do  ?  " 

"  Exactly,"  was  the  response  with  a 
smile.  The  General  was  delighted  with 
Pat's  success,  and  he  could  not  help  show- 
ing it. 

"  Pat  is  getting  himself  a  reputation 
among  your  customers,"  he  remarked 
pleasantly. 

"  Frankly,  General,"  replied  Mr. 
Farnham,  "  he's  the  best  boy  I  ever  had. 
He  shall  have  his  thirty  dollars." 

If  the  whistle  was  merry  the  night  be- 
fore, it  was  mad  with  joy  on  that  Wednes- 
day evening. 

"  Pat !  Pat !  what  ails  you  ?  "  cried  his 
217 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

mother  as  the  boy  came  bounding  in  with 
a  shout  and  a  toss  of  his  cap.  "  You'll 
be  wakin'  your  brothers." 

"  I'd  like  to  wake  'em,  mother,"  was 
the  jubilant  answer.  "  I've  got  news 
that's  worth  wakin'  'em  for." 

"And  what  is  it?  "  was  the  eager  ques- 
tion. 

"  Well,  mother,  then  it's  this.  I'm  to 
have  thirty  dollars  a  month  and  to  stay  at 
the  dress  counter." 

"Pat!  Pat!"  exclaimed  the  little  wo- 
man, excited  in  her  turn.  "  It's  forty 
years  old  I  am,  and  sure  and  I  know  bet- 
ter than  to  be  wakin'  b'ys  out  of  their 
slape  jist  to  be  hearin'  a  bit  of  news.  But 
I'm  goin'  to  wake  'em.  They  shall  be 
knowin'  this  night  what  comes  to  a  b'y 
that  does  his  best  when  he's  got  Gineral 
Brady  to  back  him.  And  would  Gineral 
Brady  back  you  if  you  didn't  desarve  it? 
That  he  wouldn't.  I  ain't  heard  nothin' 
of  his  backin'  up  street  loafers  nor  any 
sort  of  shiftless  b'ys." 

The  boys  were  wakened,  and  a  difficult 
218 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

task  it  was.  But  when,  at  last,  they  were 
all  thoroughly  roused  and  were  made  to 
understand  that  there  was  no  fire,  nor  any 
uproar  in  the  streets,  nor  a  train  off  the 
track,  they  stared  about  them  wonder- 
ingly.  And  when  they  had  been  told  of 
Pat's  good  fortune,  "  Is  that  all  ?  "  asked 
jealous  little  Jim,  and  down  went  his  red 
head  on  the  pillow,  and  shut  went  his 
eyes  in  a  twinkling.  Barney  and  Tom- 
mie,  who  knew  not  the  value  of  money, 
gazed  solemnly  at  their  mother  and  Pat, 
and  then  into  each  other's  eyes  and  com- 
posedly laid  themselves  down  to  renewed 
slumber.  And  Larry  howled  till  the  win- 
dows rattled,  for  Larry  was  a  strong  child 
for  his  years,  and  never  before  had  he 
been  waked  up  in  the  night.  But  Andy 
sat  up  in  bed  and  clasped  his  brother's 
hand  in  both  his  while  his  face  showed 
his  delight. 

And     then      something    happened    to 
Andy.     His    mother,    disgusted    at   the 
conduct  of  the  little    boys,  put  her  arm 
around  his  neck  and  kissed  him. 
219 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"It's  a  jewel  you  are,  Andy,"  she  said, 
"  with  good  understandin'  in  you.  You'll 
be  wakin'  up  Pat  in  the  noight  some 
day." 

"  Huh  !  "  thought  jealous  little  Jim, 
who  was  only  feigning  sleep. 

"  Now,  mother,"  said  Pat  when  the  tiny 
lamp  stood  once  more  on  the  kitchen  ta- 
ble, and  the  two  sat  beside  the  stove, 
"will  you  give  up  two  of  your  wash 
places  ? " 

"  Not  I,  Pat  dear.  With  six  of  us,  not 
countin'  you  and  not  countin'  Moike,  who 
cares  for  himsilf,  we  need  all  the  money 
we  can  honestly  get." 

"Only  one,  then,  mother;  only  one. 
My  good  luck  is  no  comfort  to  me  if  I 
can't  think  of  your  getting  a  day's  rest 
every  week  out  of  it." 

The  widow  regarded  him  earnestly. 
She  saw  how  her  refusal  would  pain  him 
and  she  yielded.  "  Well,  then,"  she  said, 
"wan  place,  Pat  dear,  I'll  give  up.  And 
it'll  be  Wednesday,  because  'twas  on  a 
Wednesday  that  your  luck  come  to  you." 
220 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Another  month  went  by  and  the  holi- 
day trade  was  over.  Nevertheless  the 
amount  of  custom  at  Mr.  Farnham's  did 
not  diminish  much.  Ladies  who  went 
out  on  looking  tours,  if  they  began  at 
Farnham's  ended  there  by  purchasing.  If 
they  stopped  first  at  Wall's  they  went  on 
to  Farnham's  and  bought  there.  Mr. 
Wall  was  not  blind.  And  so,  one  day 
General  Brady  walked  into  Mr.  Farn- 
ham's store  and  back  to  his  desk  again. 

"  Another  rise  ? "  asked  the  merchant 
laughingly. 

"  Something  of  the  sort,"  was  the  re- 
joinder. "  Mr.  Wall  offers  forty  dollars 
a  month  for  Pat." 

"  He  doesn't  take  him  though,"  was 
the  significant  answer. 

The  General  laughed.  "  I  see  you  ap- 
preciate him,"  he  said. 

"Well,  to  tell  the  truth,  General,  I 
know  my  right  hand  man  when  I  see  him, 
and  Pat  O'Callaghan  is  his  name.  I  only 
wish  there  were  two  of  him." 

The  General's    face   grew   thoughtful. 

221 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"There  may  be,"  he  said  at  length. 
"  His  next  brother,  Mike,  is  at  our  house, 
and  just  as  much  of  a  born  trader  as  Pat. 
His  ways,  however,  are  a  little  different." 

Mr.  Farnham  put  out  his  hand.  "  I 
take  this  hint  as  very  kind  of  you,  Gen- 
eral. When  may  I  have  him  ?  " 

"  Could  you  wait  till  next  fall  ?  He 
ought  to  finish  this  school  year.  Next 
winter  I  could  take  charge  of  him  one 
evening  a  week  together  with  Pat.  The 
terms  must  be  the  same  for  him  as  they 
were  for  Pat  when  he  began — fifteen  dol- 
lars a  month  and  one  evening  each  week 

A.  » 
out. 

"All  right,  General.  I'll  be  frank  with 
you — I'm  glad  to  get  him  on  those  terms. 
I  begin  to  think  that  it's  enough  of  a  rec- 
ommendation for  a  boy  to  be  an  O'Cal- 
laghan." 

'  The  General  smiled  as  he  left  Mr.  Farn- 
ham's  desk,  and  on  his  way  out  of  the 
store,  he  stopped  to  speak  to  Pat. 

"  What  is  your  greatest  ambition,  my 
boy  ?  "  he  asked.  And  he  knew  what  an- 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

swer  he  would  receive  before  Pat  replied, 
"  To  have  a  store  with  O'Callaghan  Broth- 
ers over  the  door." 

Again  the  General  smiled,  and  this  time 
very  kindly.  "  I'll  tell  you  a  sort  of  a 
secret,"  he  said,  "that  isn't  so  much  of  a 
secret  that  you  need  to  hesitate  about 
speaking  of  it.  Mike's  coming  to  Mr. 
Farnham  next  fall." 

Then  the  boy  got  hold  of  the  man's 
hand.  "  General  Brady,"  he  began  after 
a  moment  of  silence,  "  you  know  I  can't 
thank  you  as  I  ought  in  words,  but— 
and  then  he  stopped.  This  boy  who  could 
fight  to  defend  his  small  brother,  who  could 
face  contempt  to  ease  his  mother's  burdens, 
who  could  grub  and  dig  and  win  a  chance 
for  his  own  promotion,  was  very  near  to 
tears. 

He  did  not  wish  to  shed  those  tears,  and 
the  General  knew  it.  So  with  a  hearty 
"  Good-by,  Pat,"  the  fine  old  soldier 
passed  on. 


223 


CHAPTER  XVII 

The  shanty  by  the  tracks  had  never  seen 
such  rejoicing  as  occurred  within  its  cheap 
walls  that  January  evening.  Pat  had  said 
nothing  at  supper  time  of  his  wonderful 
news  concerning  Mike.  He  knew  how 
anxious  his  brother  would  be  to  tell  it  him- 
self, and  he  had  left  the  tale  of  his  own  ad- 
vancement to  follow  Mike's  disclosure. 
For  he  felt  sure  that  he  should  find  Mike 
upon  his  return  from  the  store  at  nine 
o'clock,  and  that  he  would  spend  the  night 
at  home,  as  he  sometimes  did.  Many 
times  that  day  he  glanced  at  the  print  and 
gingham  counter  and  imagined  Mike's 
sturdy  figure  behind  it.  Pat's  hands  were 
long  and  slender,  while  Mike's  were  of  the 
sort  known  as  "useful."  "  Before  ever  he 
comes  in  he  shall  know  how  to  measure 
and  display  goods,  and  how  to  make  neat 
224 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

packages,"  he  thought.  "I'll  teach  him 
myself  odd  times." 

And  then  followed  visions  of  the  in- 
creased comfort  to  come  to  the  shanty.  He 
saw  his  mother,  with  never  a  wash  place, 
staying  at  home  every  day  to  guide  and 
control  the  little  boys.  He  saw  Andy, 
quiet,  studious  Andy,  moving  gently  about 
in  General  Brady's  house,  and  the  thought 
came  to  him  that  the  General  would  proba- 
bly like  him  better  than  he  did  either  Mike 
or  himself,  though  Andy  would  never  be 
much  of  a  hand  at  marketing.  And  then 
came  the  most  daring  thought  of  all  — 
"Andy  shall  go  to  college.  Mike  and  I 
will  help  him  to  it." 

But  never  an  opportunity  of  making  a 
sale  did  Pat  miss.  With  that  last  decision 
to  send  Andy  to  college  he  had  hung  upon 
himself  a  new  weight.  Not  a  weight  that 
oppressed  and  bent  him  down,  but  a  weight 
that  caused  him  to  hold  his  head  up  and 
resolve,  as  never  before,  to  do  his  best. 

"  Andy's  not  strong,"  his  busy  brain,  in 
the  intervals  of  trade,  ran  on.  But  with 
225 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mike  on  one  side  of  him  and  me  on  the 
other,  he'll  get  to  the  place  where  he  can 
do  his  best.  General  Brady  is  helping 
Mike  and  me.  It's  a  pity  if  the  two  of 
us  can't  help  Andy." 

It  was  hard  to  keep  still  at  supper  time, 
but  Pat  succeeded,  only  allowing  himself 
to  bestow  a  look  of  particular  affection  on 
his  favorite  brother. 

But  his  mother  was  not  to  be  deceived. 
She  followed  him  to  the  door  and,  putting 
her  head  outside,  said  softly,  "You  may 
kape  still  if  you  want  to,  Pat  dear,  but  'tis 
mysilf  as  knows  you've  somethin'  on  your 
moind." 

"  Well,  then,  mother,"  prophesied  Pat 
with  a  laughing  backward  glance,  "  I  think 
Mike  will  be  over  to  spend  the  evening 
with  you."  And  he  was  off. 

"And  what  does  he  mean  by  that?" 
wondered  Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  looking  after 
him.  "  There's  somethin'  astir.  I  felt  it 
by  the  look  of  him." 

She  turned  back  and  shut  the  door, 
and  there  was  little  Jim  loitering  as  if  he 
226 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

hardly  knew  whether  to  wash  the  dishes 
or  not. 

"  'Tis  the  bank  that's  ahead  of  you,  do 
you  moind,  Jim  ?  Hurry  up  with  your 
dish  pan.  Pat  was  sayin'  maybe  Mike  '11 
be  home  this  evenin'." 

In  response  to  this  urging  little  Jim 
made  a  clatter  with  the  dishes  that  might 
be  taken  by  some  to  represent  an  increase 
of  speed,  but  his  mother  was  not  of  that 
number. 

"  Come,  Jim,"  she  said,  "less  n'ise.  If 
you  was  hustlin'  them  thin  china  dishes  of 
Mrs.  Gineral  Brady's  loike  that  there'd  be 
naught  left  of  'em  but  pieces — and  dirty 
pieces,  too,  for  they'd  all  be  broke  before 
you'd  washed  wan  of  'em." 

"  I  ain't  never  goin'  to  wash  any  of  Mrs. 
Gineral  Brady's  dishes,"  remarked  Jim 
calmly. 

"You're  young  yet,  Jim,  to  be  sayin' 
what  you're  goin'  to  do  and  what  not," 
was  the  severe  response.  "  At  your  age 
your  father  would  niver  have  said  he  would 
or  he  would  not  about  what  was  a  long  way 
227 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ahead  of  him,  for  your  father  was  wise,  and 
he  knowed  that  ne'er  a  wan  of  us  knows 
what's  comin'  to  us." 

But   Jim's   countenance    expressed    in- 
difference.      "  Gineral 
Brady's    got    a   bank 
without  washin'  dishes 
for   it,"  he    observed. 
The  widow  stared. 
This    was     a     little 
nearer    to     imperti- 
nence than  anything 


"  Little  Jim  made 
a  clatter  with  the 
dishes." 


she  had    before    en- 
countered. 

"You  moind  the 
Gineral  made  gravy, 
do    you  ?  "   she  said 
at  last.     "And  good 
gravy,  too  ? " 
Jim  was  obliged  to  own  that  he  remem- 
bered it.     "  And  that  he  done  it  with  an 
apron  on  to  kape  from  gettin'  burnt  and 
spattered  ? " 
Jim  nodded. 

"  Him  that  ain't  above  makin'  gravy, 
228 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

ain't  above  washin'  dishes,  nayther,"  was 
the  statement  made  in  Mrs.  O'Callaghan's 
most  impressive  manner.  "  Show  Gin- 
eral  Brady  a  pile  of  dishes  that  it  was  his 
place  to  wash,  and  he'd  wash  'em,  you 
may  depind.  'Tis  iver  the  biggest  folks 
as  will  do  little  things  loike  that  when 
they  has  to,  and  do  'em  good,  too. 
What's  got  into  you,  Jim  ?  " 

"  You  think  Pat  and  Mike  and  Andy's 
better  than  me,"  burst  out  the  jealous  lit- 
tle fellow. 

"  I  think,"  said  his  mother,  "  that  Pat 
and  Moike  and  Andy  does  better  than 
you,  for  they  takes  what's  set  for  'em  and 
does  it  as  good  as  they  can.  But  you're 
all  Tim's  b'ys,  so  you  are." 

"  If  I  done  like  Pat  and  Mike  and 
Andy,"  asked  Jim  hesitatingly,  "  would 
you  think  I  was  just  as  good  ?  " 

"Sure  and  I  would,  Jim,"  said  his 
mother  earnestly.  "  Will  you  try  ?  " 

"  I  will." 

And  then  steps  crunched  on  the  snowy 
path  that  led  to  the  shanty  door,  and 
229 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mike  came  in.  There  was  that  in  his 
face  that  told  his  mother  without  a  word 
that  he  brought  good  news. 

"  Moike  !  Moike  !  'Tis  the  shanty's 
the  luckiest  place  in  town,  for  there's 
naught  but  good  news  comes  to  it,  do  you 
see?  What  have  you  got  to  tell  ?  " 

"  I've  got  to  tell,"  cried  Mike  in  ring- 
ing tones,  "  that  next  fall  I'm  to  go  to 
Mr.  Farnham's  store  at  fifteen  dollars  a 
month.  Pat  shan't  do  all  for  you,  mother. 
I'll  do  some  myself." 

For  a  moment  the  widow  was  dazed. 
Then  she  said,  "  I  don't  know  what  I  was 
lookin'  for,  but  it  wasn't  anything  so  good 
as  this.  'Twas  Gineral  Brady  got  you 
the  place,  was  it  ?  " 

"It  was,  mother." 

"I  knowed  it.  He's  the  man  to  be 
loike."  She  looked  around  upon  her 
sons,  and  then  she  said,  "  I  want  all  my 
b'ys  to  remimber  that  it's  honorable  em- 
pl'yment  to  do  anything  in  the  world  for 
Gineral  Brady  and  Mrs.  Gineral  Brady, 
too.  The  toime  may  come  when  you  can 
230 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

do  some  big  thing  for  'em,  but  the  toime's 
roight  here  when  you  can  sweep  and  cook 
and  wash  dishes  for  'em,  and  make  'em 
aisy  and  comfortable,  and  so  lingthen  out 
their  days.  Moike  goin'  to  the  store 
gives  Andy  a  chance  to  show  that  the 
O'Callaghans  knows  how  to  be  grateful. 
And,  Moike,  you'll  be  takin'  home  an- 
other goose  for  'em  when  you  go.  A 
goose  ain't  much,  but  it  shows  what  I'd 
do  if  I  had  the  chance.  And  that's  all 
that  makes  a  prisint  seem  good  anyway — 
jist  to  know  that  the  giver's  heart  is  warm 
toward  you." 

She  paused  and  then  went  on,  "  Well, 
well,  and  that's  what  Pat  was  kapin'  still 
about  at  supper  toime.  I  could  see  that 
he  knowed  somethin'  that  he  wouldn't 
tell.  He'd  be  givin'  you  the  chance  to 
bring  your  own  good  news,  Moike,  do 
you  see?  Pat's  the  b'y  to  give  other  folks 
the  chances  as  is  their  due.  There's  them 
that  fond  of  gabblin'  and  makin'  a  stir 
that  they'd  have  told  it  thimsilves,  but 
sure  O'Callaghan  ain't  their  name." 
231 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

At  this  every  face  grew  bright,  for  even 
Barney  and  Tommie  saw  that  no  undue 
praise  of  Pat  was  meant,  but  that,  as 
O'Callaghans,  they  were  all  held  incapable 
of  telling  other  people's  stories,  and  they 
lifted  their  heads  up.  All  but  Larry 
who,  with  sleepily  drooping  crown,  was 
that  moment  taken  up  and  prepared  for 
bed. 

"  And  now,  Moike,"  said  Mrs.  O'Cal- 
laghan  when  Larry  had  been  disposed  of, 
"  'tis  fitting  you  should  sit  to-night  in  the 
father's  chair.  Sit  you  down  in  it." 

"  Not  I,  mother,"  responded  the  gal- 
lant Mike.  "  Sit  you  in  it,  and  'twill  be 
all  the  same  as  if  I  sat  there  myself." 

"  Well,  well,  Moike,"  said  the  widow 
with  a  pleased  smile.  "  Have  it  your 
own  way.  Kape  on  tryin'  to  spoil  your 
mother  with  kindness.  'Tis  somethin' 
you  larned  from  your  father,  and  I'll  not 
be  denyin'  it  makes  my  heart  loight." 

And  then  the  talk  went  on  to  Andy's 
promotion  to  General  Brady's  kitchen. 

"Andy  and  me  won't  be  a  team  then," 
232 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

put  in  little  Jim.  "  I'll  run  things  my- 
self. I  guess  I  can  cook." 

"  Well  said,  Jim !  "  cried  his  mother. 
"  To  be  sure  you  can  cook — when  you've 
larned  how.  There's  them  that  takes  to 
cookin'  by  nature,  I've  heard,  but  I've 
niver  seen  any  of  'em.  There's  rules  to 
iverything,  and  iverybody  must  larn  'em. 
For  'tis  the  rule  that  opens  the  stingy 
hand,  and  shuts  a  bit  the  ginerous  wan, 
and  so  kapes  all  straight." 

But  little  Jim  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  his 
mother's  wisdom.  He  was  thinking  what 
wonderful  dishes  he  would  concoct,  and 
how  often  they  would  have  pudding.  Pud- 
ding was  Jim's  favorite  food,  and  some- 
thing seldom  seen  on  the  widow's  table. 
Little  Jim  resolved  to  change  the  bill  of 
fare,  and  to  go  without  pudding  only  when 
he  must.  He  could  not  hope  to  put  his 
plans  into  operation  for  many  months  to 
come,  however;  so,  with  a  sigh,  he  opened 
his  eyes  and  ears  again  to  what  was  passing 
around  him,  and  was  just  in  time  to  see 
Barney  and  Tommie  marching  to  bed  an 
233 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

hour  later  than  usual.  They  had  been 
permitted  to  sit  up  till  half-past  eight  in 
honor  of  Mike's  good  fortune.  Had  their 
mother  known  all,  they  might  have  stayed 
in  the  kitchen  engaged  in  the  difficult  task 
of  keeping  their  eyes  open  at  least  an  hour 
longer.  But  they  were  fast  enough  asleep 
in  their  bed  when  Pat  came  gaily  in. 

"Ah,  Pat,  my  b'y,  you  kept  still  at  sup- 
per toime  famous,  so  you  did,  but  the 
news  is  out,"  began  Mrs.  O'Callaghan. 
"  It's  Moike  that's  in  luck,  and  sure  he 
desarves  it." 

"  That  he  does,  mother,"  agreed  Pat 
heartily.  "  But  will  you  say  the  same  for 
me  if  I  tell  you  something?" 

The  widow  regarded  him  anxiously. 
There  could  not  be  bad  news  !  "  Out  with 
it  quick,  Pat!  "  she  cried. 

"Well,  then,  mother,"  said  Pat  with 
mock  resignation  in  his  tone  and  a  sparkle 
of  fun  in  his  eye,  "I'm  to  have  forty  dol- 
lars a  month." 

"  Forty  dollars  !  "  repeated  the  mother. 
"  Forty  dollars  !  That's  the  Gineral's  do- 
234 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

in's  again.  B'ys,  I'd  be  proud  to  see  any 
wan  of  you  crawl  on  your  knees  to  sarve 
the  Gineral.  Look  at  all  he's  done  for 
us,  and  us  doin'  nothin'  to  desarve  it, 
only  doin'  our  best." 

And  there  were  tears  in  the  widow's 
eyes. 

"But,  mother,"  resumed  Pat,  "'tis 
yourself  has  the  bad  luck." 

"  And  what  do  you  mean,  Pat  ?  " 

"  You've  lost  another  wash  place  to- 
night." 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  smiled.  "Are  you 
sure  of  it  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  am,"  was  the  determined  answer. 

"  Have  it  your  own  way.  You  and 
Moike  are  headstrong  b'ys,  so  you  are. 
If  you  kape  on  I'll  have  nothin'  to  do 
but  to  sit  with  my  hands  folded.  And 
that's  what  your  father  was  always  plazed 
to  see  me  do." 

The  two  brothers  exchanged  glances  of 
satisfaction,  while  Andy  looked  wistfullv 
on  and  little  Jim  frowned  jealously. 

"Now,  mother,"  said  Pat,  "I've  the 
235 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

thought  for  you.  It  came  to  me  to-day 
in  the  store.  'Tis  the  best  thought  ever 
I  had.  Andy's  going  to  college." 

The  delicate  boy  started.  How  had 
Pat  divined  the  wish  of  his  heart  ? 

"  'Tis  Andy  that  will  make  us  all 
proud,  if  only  he  can  go  to  college,"  con- 
cluded this  unselfish  oldest  brother. 

The  widow  glanced  at  the  lit-up  coun- 
tenance and  eager  eyes  of  her  third  son, 
and,  loth  to  rouse  hopes  that  might  later 
have  to  be  dashed  down,  observed, 
"  Thim  colleges  are  ixpinsive,  I  bel-ave." 

Andy's  face  clouded  with  anxiety. 
There  must  be  a  chance  for  him,  or  Pat 
would  not  have  spoken  with  so  much 
certainty. 

"They  may  be,"  replied  Pat,  "but 
Andy  will  have  Mike  on  one  side  of  him 
and  me  on  the  other,  and  we'll  make  it 
all  right." 

"  That  we  will,"  cried  Mike  enthusias- 
tically. "  By  the  time  he  needs  to  go  I'll 
be  making  forty  dollars  a  month  myself, 
and  little  Jim  will  be  earning  for  himself." 
236 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Sturdy  Mike  as  he  spoke  cast  an  encour- 
aging look  on  his  favorite  brother,  who 
laid  by  his  frown  and  put  on  at  once  an 
air  of  importance. 

"  I'm  goin'  to  be  a  foightin'  man  loike 
the  Gineral,"  he  announced  pompously. 

"  Well,  well,"  cried  the  widow.  "  I'm 
gettin'  old  fast.  You'll  all  be  growed  up 
in  a  few  minutes." 

And  then  they  all  laughed. 

But  presently  the  mother  said,  "Thank 
God  for  brothers  as  is  brothers.  Andy  is 
goin'  to  college  sure." 


237 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

Summer  time  came  again.  The  stove 
went  out  into  the  airy  kitchen,  and  a 
larger  flock  of  geese  squawked  in  the 
weeds  and  ditches.  Again  Andy  and  Jim 
drove  the  cows,  Andy  of  a  morning  with 
a  dreamy  stroll,  and  Jim  of  an  evening 
with  a  strut  that  was  intended  for  a  mili- 
tary gait.  Who  had  told  little  Jim  of 
West  Point,  the  family  did  not  know. 
But  he  had  been  told  by  somebody. 

And  his  cows  were  to  him  as  a  battalion 
to  be  commanded.  The  General  used  to 
watch  him  from  his  front  veranda  with  a 
smile.  Somewhere  Jim  had  picked  up 
the  military  salute,  and  he  never  failed  to 
honor  the  General  with  it  as  he  strutted 
past  with  his  cows.  And  always  the  old 
soldier  responded  with  an  amused  look  in 
his  eyes  which  Jim  was  too  far  away  to 
238 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

see,  even  if  he  had  not  been  preoccupied 
with  his  own  visions.  Jim  was  past  ten 
now,  and  not  much  of  a  favorite  with 
other  boys.  But  he  was  a  prime  favorite 
with  himself. 

"West  P'int,"  mused  Mrs.  O'Calla- 
ghan.  "  Let  him  go  there  if  he  can. 
'Twill  be  better  than  gettin'  to  be  an  agi- 
tator." 

The  widow  continued  her  musings  and 
finally  she  asked,  "  Where  is  West  P'int, 
Jim?" 

"  It's  where  they  make  foightin'  men 
out  of  boys." 

"Is  it  far  from  here  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  can  get  there  any- 
way." His  mother  looked  at  him  and 
she  saw  pugnacity  written  all  over  him. 
His  close-cropped  red  hair,  which  was  of 
a  beautiful  shade  and  very  thick,  stood 
straight  on  end  all  over  his  head.  His 
very  nature  seemed  belligerent. 

"  The  trouble  with  you,  Jim,"  she  said, 
"  is  that  you'd  iver  go  foightin'  in  toimes 
of  peace.  Foight  when  foightin's  to  be 
239 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

done,  and  the  rest  of  the  toime  look 
plissant  loike  the  Gineral." 

"  I  ain't  foightin'  in  times  of  peace  any 
more,"  responded  little  Jim  confidentially. 
"  I  ain't  licked  a  boy  for  three  weeks. 
Mebbe  I  won't  lick  any  one  all  summer." 

His  mother  sighed.  "I  should  hope 
you  wouldn't,  Jim,"  she  said.  "  'Tisn't 
gintlemanly  to  be  lickin'  any  wan  with 
your  fist." 

"And  what  would  I  be  lickin'  'em 
with?"  inquired  Jim  wonderingly. 

"You're  not  to  be  lickin'  'em  at  all. 
Hear  to  me  now,  Jim,  and  don't  be  the 
only  wan  of  your  father's  b'ys  I'll  have  to 
punish.  Wait  till  you  get  to  your  West 
P'int,  and  larn  when  and  where  to  foight. 
Will  you,  Jim?" 

Little  Jim  reflected.  The  request 
seemed  a  reasonable  one,  and  so  "  I  will," 
said  he. 

Evening  after  evening  he  drove  the  cows 

and  gave  his  commands  at  the  corners  of 

the  streets.     And  the  cows   plodded  on, 

swinging  their  tails  to  brush  the  flies  away 

240 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

from  their  sides,  stopping  here  and  there 
where  a  mouthful  of  grass  might  be  picked 
up,  stirring  the  dust  in  dry  weather  with 
their  dragging  feet,  and  sinking  hoof-deep 
in  the  mud  when  there  had  been  rain.  But 
always  little  Jim  was  the  commander  — 
even  when  the  rain  soaked  him  and  ran  in 
rills  from  his  hat  brim. 

On  rainy  mornings  Andy,  wearing  rub- 
ber boots  and  a  rubber  coat  and  carrying 
an  umbrella,  picked  his  way  along,  follow- 
ing his  obedient  charges  to  the  pasture 
gate.  But  little  Jim  liked  to  have  bare 
legs  and  feet  and  to  feel  the  soft  mud  be- 
tween his  toes,  and  the  knowledge  that  he 
was  getting  wetter  and  wetter  was  most  sat- 
isfactory to  him.  At  home  there  was  always 
a  clean  shirt  and  a  pair  of  cottonade  pan- 
taloons waiting  for  him,  and  nothing  but  a 
"Well,  Jim  !  "  by  way  of  reproof. 

"  File  right!  "  little  Jim  would  cry,  or 
"  File  left !  "  as  the  case  might  be.  And 
when  the  street  corner  was  turned,  "  For- 
ward ! " 

All  this  circumstance  and  show  had  its 
241 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

effect  on  the  two  small  Morton  boys  and 
at  last,  on  a  pleasant  June  evening,  they 
began  to  mock  him. 

Jim  stood  it  silently  for  a  quarter  of  a 
second,  while  his  face  grew  red.  Then  he 
burst  out,  "  I'd  lick  both  of  you,  if  I  was 
sure  this  was  a  where  or  when  to  foight! " 

D 

His  persecutors  received  this  informa- 
tion with  delight,  and  repeated  it  after- 
ward to  their  older  brother  with  many 
chuckles. 

"  Lucky  for  you  ! "  was  his  answer. 
"  He  can  whip  any  boy  in  town  of  your 
size."  Whereat  the  little  fellows  grew  so- 
ber, and  recognized  the  fact  that  some 
scruple  of  Jim's  not  understood  by  them 
had  probably  saved  them  unpleasant  conse- 
quences of  their  mockery. 

Jim's  ambition,  in  due  time,  came  to  the 
ears  of  General  Brady,  and  very  soon  there- 
after the  old  soldier,  who  had  now  taken 
the  whole  O'Callaghan  family  under  his 
charge,  contrived  to  meet  the  boy. 

"  Jim,"  said  he,  "I  hear  you're  quite  set 
on  West  Point.  I  also  hear  that  you  did 
242 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

not  stand  well  in  your  classes  last  year.  I 
advise  you  to  study  hard  hereafter." 

Jim  touched  his  hat  in  military  style. 
"  What's  larnin'  your  lessons  got  to  do 
with  bein'  a  foightin'  man,  sir  ?  "  he  asked 
respectfully. 

"A  great  deal,  my  boy.  If  you  ever 
get  to  West  Point  you  will  have  to  study 
here,  and  you  will  have  to  go  to  school 
there  besides." 

Jim  sighed.  "  You  can't  get  to  be  noth- 
in'  you  want  to  be  without  doin'  a  lot  you 
don't  want  to  do,"  he  said  despondently. 
"  I  was  goin'  to  have  a  bank  loike  you,  sir, 
but  my  mother  said  the  first  steps  to  it  was 
dustin'  and  dishwashin',  so  I  give  up  the 
notion." 

The  General  laughed  and  little  Jim  went 
his  way,  but  he  remembered  the  General's 
words.  As  the  summer  waned  and  the 
time  for  school  approached  the  cows  heard 
no  more  "File  right!  File  left!  Forward!" 
Little  Jim  had  no  love  for  study  and  he 
drove  with  a  "  Hi,  there  !  Get  along  with 
you  ! "  But  it  was  all  one  to  the  cows. 
243 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

And  so  his  dreams  of  West  Point  faded. 
He  began  to  study  the  cook  book,  for 
now  Andy  was  to  go  to  General  Brady's, 
and  on  two  days  of  the  week  he  was  to 
make  the  family  happy  with  his  puddings. 
Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  having  but  two  days  out 
now,  had  decided  to  do  the  cooking  her- 
self on  those  days  when  she  was  at  home. 

But  never  a  word  said  little  Jim  to  his 
mother  on  the  subject  of  puddings.  "  I 
can  read  just  how  to  make  'em.  I'll  not 
be  botherin'  her,"  he  thought.  "  Pat  and 
Mike  is  always  wantin'  her  to  take  it  aisy. 
She  can  take  it  aisy  about  the  puddin',  so 
she  can." 

The  week  before  school  began  his  moth- 
er had  given  him  some  instructions  of  a 
general  character  on  cooking  and  sweep- 
ing and  bed-making.  "  I'm  home  so  much, 
Jim,"  she  told  him,  "that  I'll  let  you  off 
with  makin'  the  bed  where  you're  to  slape 
with  Mike.  That  you  must  make  so's  to 
be  larnin'  how." 

"  Wan  bed's  not  much,"  said  little  Jim 
airily. 

244 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"See  that  you  makes  it  good  then,"  was 
the  answer. 

"And  don't  you  be  burnin'  the  steak 
nor  soggin'  the  potatoes,"  was  her  parting 
charge  when  she  went  to  her  washing  on 
Monday,  the  first  day  of  school. 

"  Sure  and  I  won't,"  was  the  confident 
response.  "  I  know  how  to  cook  steak 
and  potatoes  from  watchin'  Andy." 

That  night  after  school  little  Jim  stepped 
into  Mr.  Farnham's  store.  "I'm  needin' 
a  few  raisins  for  my  cookin',"  he  said  to 
Pat. 

Pat  looked  surprised,  but  handed  him 
the  money  and  little  Jim  strutted  out. 

"What  did  Jim  want?"  asked  Mike 
when  he  had  opportunity. 

"  Raisins  for  his  cooking."  And  both 
brothers  grinned. 

"  I'll  just  be  doin'  the  hardest  first,"  said 
little  Jim  as,  having  reached  home,  he 
tossed  off  his  hat,  tied  on  his  apron,  and 
washed  his  hands.  "  And  what's  that  but 
the  puddin'  ?  " 

He  slapped  the  pudding  dish  out  on  the 
245 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

table,  opened  his  paper  of  raisins,  ate  two 
or  three  just  to  be  sure  they  were  good, 
and  then  hastily  sought  the  cook  book.  It 
opened  of  itself  at  the  pudding  page,  which 
little  Jim  took  to  be  a  good  omen.  "  Pud- 
din's  the  thing,"  he  said. 

"  Now  how  much  shall  I  make  ?  Barney 
and  Tommie  is  awful  eaters  when  it  comes 
to  somethin'  good,  and  so  is  Larry.  I'd 
ought  to  have  enough." 

He  read  over  the  directions. 

"  Seems  to  me  this  receipt  sounds 
skimpin',"  was  his  comment.  "  Some- 
thin's  got  to  be  done  about  it.  Most 
loike  it  wasn't  made  for  a  big  family,  but 
for  a  little  wan  loike  General  Brady's." 

He  ate  another  raisin. 

"A  little  puddin's  just  nothin',"  fie 
said.  "I'll  just  put  in  what  the  receipt 
calls  for,  and  as  much  more  of  everything 
as  it  seems  to  need." 

Busily    he    measured    and    stirred   and 

tasted,  and   with  every  taste  more   sugar 

was  added,  for  little  Jim  liked  sweets.    At 

last  it  was  ready  for  the  oven,  even  down 

246 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  the  raisins,  which  had  been  picked  from 
their  stems  and  all  unwashed  and  un- 
stoned  cast  into  the  pudding  basin.  And 
never  before  had  that  or  any  other  pud- 
ding dish  been  so  full.  If  Jim  so  much 
as  touched  it,  it  slopped  over. 

"  And  sure  and  that's  because  the  pud- 
din'  dish  is  too  little,"  he  remarked  to 
himself.  "  They'll  have  to  be  gettin'  me 
a  bigger  wan.  And  how  long  will  it  take 
it  to  bake,  I  wonder?  Till  it's  done,  of 
course." 

He  turned  to  the  stove,  which  was  now 
in  the  house  again,  and  the  fire  was  out. 

"  Huh !  "  exclaimed  little  Jim.  "  I'll 
soon  be  makin'  a  fire." 

He  rushed  for  the  kindling,  picking 
out  a  swimming  raisin  as  he  ran.  "They'll 
see  the  difference  between  Andy's  cookin' 
and  mine,  I'm  thinkin'.  Dustin'  and 
dishwashin' !  Just  as  if  I  couldn't  cook 
with  the  best  of  them  !" 

The  sugar  was  sifted  over  the  table,  his 
egg-shells  were  on  the  floor,  and  a  path 
of  flour  led  to  the  barrel  when,  three- 
247 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

quarters  of  an  hour  later,  the  widow 
stepped  in.  But  there  was  a  roaring  fire 
and  the  pudding  was  baking. 

"Well,  Jim,"  cried  his  mother,  "'tis  a 
big  fire  you've  got,  sure.  But  I  don't  see 
no  potatoes  a-cookin'." 

Jim  looked  blank.  He  had  forgotten 
the  potatoes.  He  had  been  so  busy  coal- 
ing up  the  fire. 

"Run  and  get  'em,"  directed  his 
mother.  "  There's  no  toime  for  palin' 
'em.  We'll  have  to  b'ile  'em  with  their 
jackets  on." 

But  there  was  no  time  even  for  that,  for 
Pat  and  Mike  came  in  to  supper  and 
could  not  be  kept  waiting. 

Hastily  the  widow  got  the  dishpan  and 
washed  ofF  the  sticky  table,  and  her  face, 
as  Jim  could  see,  was  very  sober.  Then, 
while  Jim  set  the  table,  Pat  fried  the  steak 
and  Mike  brushed  up  the  flour  from  the 
floor. 

And  now  a  burnt  smell  was  in  the  air. 
It  was  not  the  steak.  It  seemed  to  seep 
out  of  the  oven. 

248 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Open  the  oven  door,  Jim,"  com- 
manded Mrs.  O'Callaghan,  after  one  crit- 
ical sniff. 


V 

"Open  the  oven  door,  Jim." 

The   latest  cook   of  the   O'Callaghans 
obeyed,  and  out  rolled  a  cloud  of  smoke. 
The  pudding  had  boiled  over  and  flooded 
the  oven  bottom.     Poor  Jim  ! 
249 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  What's  in  the  oven,  Jim  ?  Perhaps 
you'll  be  tellin'  us,"  said  his  mother 
gravely. 

"  My  puddin',"  answered  little  Jim,  very 
red  in  the  face. 

At  the  word  pudding  the  faces  of  Bar- 
ney and  Tommie  and  Larry,  who  had 
come  in  very  hungry,  lit  up.  But  at  the 
smell  they  clouded  again.  A  pudding 
lost  was  worse  than  having  no  pudding  to 
begin  with.  For  to  lose  what  is  within 
reach  of  his  spoon  is  hard  indeed  for  any 
boy  to  bear. 

"And  what  was  it  I  told  you  to  be 
cookin'  for  supper?"  asked  the  widow 
when  they  had  all  sat  down  to  steak  and 
bread  and  butter,  leaving  the  doors  and 
windows  wide  open  to  let  out  the  pudding 
smoke. 

But  little  Jim  did  not  reply  and  his 
downcast  look  was  in  such  contrast  to  his 
erect  hair,  which  no  failure  of  puddings 
could  down,  that  Pat  and  Mike  burst  out 
laughing.  The  remembrance  of  the 
raisins  little  Jim  had  so  pompously  asked 
250 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

for  was  upon  them,  too.  And  even  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan  smiled. 

"  Was  it  steak  and  potatoes  I  told  you 
to  be  cookin'  ? "  she  persisted. 

Little  Jim  nodded  miserably. 

"  I'll  not  be  hard  on  you,  Jim,"  said 
his  mother,  "  for  I  see  you're  ashamed  of 
yourself,  and  you  ought  to  be,  too.  But 
I'll  say  this  to  you;  them  that  cooks 
puddin's  when  they're  set  to  cook  steak 
and  potatoes  is  loike  to  make  a  smoke  in 
the  world,  and  do  themsilves  small  credit. 
Let's  have  no  more  puddin's,  Jim,  till  I 
give  you  the  word." 

That  was  all  there  was  of  it.  But  Jim 
had  lost  his  appetite  for  pudding,  and  it 
was  long  before  it  returned  to  him. 


251 


CHAPTER  XIX 

There  were  three  to  sit  by  the  kitchen 
stove  now  and  talk  of  an  evening  from 
half-past  nine  till  ten,  and  they  were  the 
widow  and  Pat  and  Mike. 

"It's  Andy  that  makes  me  astonished 
quite,"  observed  Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  "Here 
it  is  the  first  of  December  and  him  three 
months  at  Gineral  Brady's  and  gettin'  fat 
on  it.  He  niver  got  fat  to  home,  and 
that's  what  bates  me." 

"Well, mother,  he's  got  a  nice  big  room 
by  himself  to  sleep  in.  The  Physiology's 
down  on  crowding,  and  five  boys  in  one 
bedroom  ain't  good  for  a  nervous  boy  like 
Andy." 

"  Nor  it  ain't  good  for  the  rest  of  you, 
nayther,"  responded  Mrs.  O'Callaghan, 
with  conviction. 

"What  do  you  say,  b'ys  ?  Shall  we  ask 
the  landlord  to  put  us  on  another  room  in 
252 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  spring?  He'll  raise  the  rint  on  us  if 
he  does." 

The  widow  regarded  her  sons  atten- 
tively, and  they,  feeling  the  proud  respon- 
sibility of  being  consulted  by  their  mother, 
answered  as  she  would  have  them. 

"Then  that's  settled,"  said  she.  "The 
more  room,  the  more  rint.  Any  landlord 
can  see  that — a  lawyer,  anyway.  Do  you 
think,  b'ys,  Andy'll  be  a  lawyer  when  he 
comes  from  college?" 

"  Why,  mother  ? "  asked  Pat. 

"'Cause  I  don't  want  him  to  be.  He 
ain't  got  it  in  him  to  be  comin'  down  hard 
and  sharp  on  folks,  and  so  he  won't  be  a 
good  wan.  He'll  be  at  the  law  loike  little 
Jim  at  puddin's.  You  niver  was  to  coort, 
was  you,  b'ys  ?" 

Pat  and  Mike  confessed  that  they  had 
never  been  at  court. 

"  I  knowed  you  hadn't.  I  jist  asked 
you.  Well,  you  see,  b'ys,  them  lawyers 
gets  the  witnesses  up  and  asks  'em  all 
sorts  of  impudent  questions,  and  jist  as 
good  as  tells  'em  they  lies  quite  often. 
253 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Andy  couldn't  niver  do  the  loikes  of  that. 
'Tain't  in  him.  Do  you  know,  b'ys,  folks 
can't  do  what  ain't  in  'em,  no  matter  if 
they  do  go  to  college.  Now  little  Jim's 
the  wan  for  a  lawyer.  He'd  be  the  wan  to 
make  a  man  forget  his  own  name,  and  all 
on  account  of  impudent  questions." 

Pat  and  Mike  looked  surprised.  They 
were  both  fond  of  little  Jim,  Mike  par- 
ticularly so. 

"  I  see  you  wonders  at  me,  but  little 
Jim's  a-worryin'  me.  I  don't  know  what 
to  be  doin'  with  him.  B'ys,  would  you 
belave  it?  I  can't  teach  him  a  thing. 
Burn  the  steak  he  will  if  I  lave  him  with 
it,  and  Moike  knows  the  sort  of  a  bed  he 
makes.  He's  clane  out  of  the  notion  of 
that  West  P'int  and  bein'  a  foightin'  man, 
and  the  teacher's  down  on  him  at  the 
school  for  niver  larnin*  his  lessons.  And 
the  fear's  with  me  night  and  day  that 
he'll  get  to  be  wan  of  them  agitators 
yet." 

Pat   and   Mike  looked  at  each  other. 
Never  before  had  their  mother  said  a  word 
254 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  them  about  any  of  their  brothers.  And 
while  they  looked  at  each  other  the  brave 
little  woman  kept  her  eyes  fixed  on  the 
stove. 

"  The  first  step  to  bein'  an  agitator," 
she  resumed  as  if  half  to  herself,  "  is  niver 
to  be  doin'  what  you're  set  to  do  good. 
Then,  of  course,  them  you  work  for  don't 
loike  it,  and  small  blame  to  'em.  And  the 
nixt  thing  is  to  get  turned  off  and  some- 
body as  will  do  it  good  put  in  your  place. 
And  then  the  nixt  step  is  to  go  around 
tellin'  iverybody  you  meets,  whether  you 
knows  'em  or  not,  how  you're  down  on 
your  luck.  And  how  it's  a  bad  world  with 
no  chance  in  it  for  poor  folks,  when  ivery- 
body knows  most  of  the  rich  folks  begun 
poor,  and  if  there's  no  chance  for  poor 
folks,  how  comes  them  that's  rich  now  to 
be  rich  when  they  started  poor?  And  then 
the  nixt  step  is  to  make  them  that's  con- 
tent out  of  humor,  rilin'  'em  up  with 
wishin'  for  what  they've  got  no  business 
with,  seein'  they  hain't  earned  it.  And 
that's  all  there  is  to  it,  for  sure  when 
255 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

you've  got  that  far  you're  wan  of  them 
agitators." 

The  boys  listened  respectfully,  and  their 
mother  went  on:  "  Little  Jim's  got  started 
that  way.  He's  that  far  along  that  he  don't 
do  nothin'  good  he's  set  at  only  when  it's 
a  happen  so.  You  can't  depind  on  him. 
I've  got  to  head  him  off  from  bein'  an 
agitator,  for  he's  your  father's  b'y,  and  I 
can't  meet  Tim  in  the  nixt  world  if  I  let 
Jim  get  ahead  of  me.  B'ys,  will  you  help 
me?  I've  always  been  thinkin'  I  couldn't 
have  your  help;  I  must  do  it  alone.  But, 
b'ys,  I  can't  do  it  alone."  The  little 
woman's  countenance  was  anxious  as  she 
gazed  into  the  sober  faces  of  Pat  and  Mike. 

Nothing  but  boys  themselves,  though 
with  the  reliability  of  men,  they  promised 
to  help. 

"  I  knowed  you  would,"  said  the  widow 
gratefully.  "And  now  good  night  to  you. 
It's  gettin'  late.  But  you've  eased  my 
moind  wonderful.  Just  the  spakin'  out  has 
done  me  good.  Maybe  he'll  come  through 
all  roight  yet." 

256 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

The  next  morning  Mrs.  O'Callaghan 
rose  with  a  face  bright  as  ever,  but  Pat 
and  Mike  were  still  sober. 

"  Cheer  up ! "  was  her  greeting  as  they 
came  into  the  kitchen  where  she  was  al- 
ready bustling  about  the  stove.  "  Cheer 
up,  and  stand  ready  till  I  give  you  the 
word.  I'm  goin'  to  have  wan  more  big  try 
at  Jim.  You  took  such  a  load  off  me  with 
your  listenin'  to  me  and  promisin'  to  help 
that  it's  heartened  me  wonderful." 

The  two  elder  sons  smiled.  To  be 
permitted  to  hearten  their  mother  was  to 
them  a  great  privilege,  and  suddenly  little 
Jim  did  not  appear  the  hopeless  case  he 
had  seemed  when  they  went  to  bed  the 
night  before.  They  cheered  up,  and  the 
three  were  pleasantly  chatting  when  sleepy- 
eyed  little  Jim  came  out  of  the  bedroom. 

"  Hurry,  now,  and  get  washed,  and 
then  set  your  table,"  said  his  mother 
kindly. 

But  little  Jim  was  sulky. 

"  I'm  tired  of  gettin'  up  early  mornin's 
just  to  be  doin'  girl's  work,"  he  said. 
257 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Mrs.  O'Callaghan  nodded  significantly 
at  Pat  and  Mike.  "  What  was  that  story, 
Moike,  you  was  tellin'  me  about  the 
smartest  fellow  in  the  Gineral's  mess,  be- 
fore he  got  to  be  a  gineral,  you  know, 
bein'  so  handy  at  all  sorts  of  woman's 
work  ?  Didn't  you  tell  me  the  Gineral 
said  there  couldn't  no  woman  come  up  to 
him?" 

"  I  did,  mother." 

"  I  call  that  pretty  foine.  Beatin'  the 
women  at  their  own  work.  There  was 
only  wan  man  in  the  mess  that  could  do 
it,  you  said?" 

"  Yes,  mother,"  smiled  Mike. 

"  I  thought  so.  'Tain't  often  you 
foind  a  rale  handy  man  loike  that.  And 
he  was  the  best  foighter  they  had,  too  ? " 

"  Yes,  mother." 

"  I  thought  I  remimbered  all  about  it. 
Jim,  here,  can  foight,  but  do  woman's 
work  he  can't.  That  is,  and  do  it  good. 
He  mostly  gets  the  tablecloth  crooked. 
No,  he's  no  hand  at  the  girl's  work." 

"I'll    show   you,"    thought   little  Jim. 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

On  a  sudden  the  tablecloth  was  straight, 
and  everything  began  to  take  its  proper 
place  on  the  table. 

"  Mother,"  ventured  Pat,  though  he 
had  not  yet  received  the  word,  "  the 
table's  set  pretty  good  this  morning." 

"  So  it  is,  Pat,  so  it  is,"  responded  the 
widow  glancing  it  over. 

"  Maybe  Jim  can  do  girl's  work  after  all." 

"  Maybe  he  can,  Pat,  but  he'll  have  to 
prove  it  before  he'll  foind  them  that'll  be- 
lave  it.  That's  the  way  in  this  world. 
'Tis  not  enough  to  be  sayin'  you  can  do 
this  and  that.  You've  got  to  prove  it. 
And  how  will  you  prove  it?  By  doin'  it, 
of  course." 

Little  Jim  heard,  though  he  did  not 
seem  to  be  listening,  being  intent  on  mak- 
ing things  uncomfortable  for  Barney  and 
Tommie  as  far  as  he  could  in  a  quiet  way. 

It  was  a  passion  with  little  Jim  to  prove 
things — not  by  his  mother's  method,  but 
by  his  own.  So  far  his  disputes  had  been 
with  boys  of  his  own  size  and  larger,  and 
if  they  doubted  what  he  said  he  was  in 
259 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  habit  of  proving  his  assertions  with 
his  fists.  The  result  was  that  other  boys 
either  dodged  him  or  agreed  with  him 
with  suspicious  readiness.  His  mother 
had  given  him  a  fair  trial  at  the  house- 
work. He  would  prove  to  her  that  it 
was  not  because  he  could  not,  but  because 
he  would  not,  that  he  succeeded  no  bet- 
ter. He  washed  the  dishes  with  care  and 
put  them  shining  on  their  shelves,  and,  a 
little  later,  poked  his  head  out  of  the 
bedroom  door  into  the  kitchen. 

"  Mother,"  he  said,  "  you  think  I  can't 
make  a  bed  good,  don't  you  ?  " 

The  widow  smiled.  "  I  think  you 
dont  make  it  good,"  was  her  answer. 

Jim's  face  darkened  with  resolution. 
"  She  thinks  I  can't,"  he  said  to  himself. 
"  I  will,  I  guess." 

With  vim  he  set  to  work,  and  the  bed 
was  made  in  a  trice.  Little  Jim  stood  off 
as  far  as  he  could  and  sharply  eyed  his 
work.  "  'Tain't  done  good,"  he  snapped. 
And  he  tore  it  to  pieces  again.  It  took 
longer  to  make  it  the  next  time,  for  he 
260 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

was  more  careful,  but  still  it  didn't  look 
right.  He  tore  the  clothes  off  it  again, 
this  time  with  a  sigh.  "  Beds  is  awful," 
he  said.  "  It's  lots  easier  to  lick  a  boy 
than  to  make  a  bed."  And  then  he  went 
at  it  again.  The  third  time  it  was  a  trifle 
more  presentable,  and  the  school  bell  was 
ringing. 

"  I've  got  to  go,  and  I  hain't  proved  it 
to  her,"  he  said.  "But  I'll  work  till  I 
do,  see  if  I  don't.  And  then  when  I 
have  proved  it  to  her  I  won't  make  no 
more  beds." 

Jim  was  no  favorite  at  school,  where  he 
had  fallen  a  whole  room  behind  the  class 
he  had  started  with.  His  teacher  usually 
wore  a  long-suffering  air  when  she  dealt 
with  him. 

"  She  looks  like  she  thought  I  didn't 
know  nothin'  and  never  would,"  he  said  to 
himself  that  morning  when  he  had  taken 
his  seat  after  a  decided  failure  of  a  recita- 
tion. "I'll  show  her."  And  he  set  to 
work.  His  mind  was  all  unused  to  study, 
and — that  day  he  didn't  show  her. 
261 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Who'd  'a'  thought  it  was  so  hard  to 
prove  things?  "  he  said  at  night.  "There's 
another  day  a-comin',  though." 

Now  some  people  are  thankful  for 
showing.  To  little  Jim,  showing  was  de- 
grading. Suddenly  his  mother  perceived 
this,  and  felt  a  relief  she  had  not  known 
before. 

"Whativer  else  Jim's  got  or  not  got," 
she  said,  "he's  got  a  backbone  of  his 
own,  so  he  has.  Let  him  work  things 
out  for  himsilf.  Will  I  be  showin'  him 
how  to  make  a  bed?  I  won't  that.  I've 
been  praisin'  him  too  much,  intoirely.  I 
see  it  now.  Praise  kapes  Pat  and  Moike 
and  Andy  doin'  their  best  to  get  more  of  it. 
But  it  makes  little  Jim  aisy  in  his  moind 
and  scornful  loike,  so  his  nose  is  in  the  air 
all  the  toime  and  nothin'  done.  A  very 
little  praise  will  do  Jim.  And  still  less 
of  fault-findin',"  she  added. 

"  B'ys,"  she    announced   that   evening, 

"Jim's  took  a  turn.     We'll  stand  off  and 

watch   him  a  bit.     If  he'll   do   roight   for 

his  own  makin',  sure  and  that'll  be  better 

262 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

than  for  us  to  be  havin'  a  hand  in  it. 
Give  him  his  head  and  plinty  of  chances 
to  prove  things,  and  when  he  has  proved 
'em,  own  up  to  it." 

The  two  brightened.  "  I  couldn't  be- 
lieve little  Jim  was  so  bad,  mother,"  said 
Mike. 

"  Bad,  is  it  ?  Sure  and  he  ain't  bad 
yet.  And  now's  the  toime  to  kape  him 
from  it.  'Tis  little  you  can  be  doin'  with 
a  spoiled  anything.  Would  you  belave 
it?  He  made  his  bed  three  toimes  this 
mornin'  and  done  his  best  at  it,  and  me 
a-seein'  him  through  the  crack  of  the 
door  where  it  was  open  a  bit.  But  I  can't 
say  nothin'  to  him  nor  show  him  how,  for 
showin's  not  for  the  loike  of  him.  And 
them  that  takes  iverything  hard  that  way 
comes  out  sometimes  at  the  top  of  the 
hape.  Provin'  things  is  a  lawyer's  busi- 
ness. If  Jim  iver  gets  to  be  a  lawyer, 
he'll  be  a  good  wan." 

Mike,  when  he  went  to  bed  that  night, 
looked  down  at  the  small  red  head  of  the 


263 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

future  lawyer,  snuggled  down  into  the  pil- 
low, with  the  bedclothes  close  to  his  ears. 
"  I'll    not  believe  that   Jim    will   ever 
come  to  harm,"  he  said. 


264 


CHAPTER  XX 

"  There's  another  day  comin',"  little 
Jim  had  said  when  he  lay  down  in  ac- 
knowledged defeat  on  the  night  that  fol- 
lowed his  first  day  of  real  trying.  The 
other  day  came,  and  after  it  another  and 
another,  and  still  others  till  the  first  of 
March  was  at  hand.  In  the  three  months, 
which  was  the  sum  of  those  "  other  days," 
Jim  had  made  good  progress.  For  many 
weeks  he  had  been  perfect  in  the  art  of 
bed-making,  but  instead  of  giving  up  the 
practice  of  that  accomplishment,  as  he 
had  declared  he  would  do  so  soon  as  he 
could  prove  to  his  mother  that  he  could 
make  a  bed,  he  had  become  so  cranky  and 
particular  that  nobody  else  could  make  a 
bed  to  suit  him.  And  as  for  studying — 
he  was  three  classes  ahead  of  where  the 
first  of  December  had  found  him.  He 
could  still  whip  any  boy  rash  enough  to 
265 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

encounter  him,  but  his  days  and  even  his 
evenings,  in  great  part,  were  given  to  pre- 
paring a  triumph  over  his  mates  in  his 
lessons,  and  a  surprise  for  his  teacher. 

The  widow  used  to  lean  back  in  her 
husband's  chair  of  an  evening  and  watch 
him  as  he  sat  at  the  table,  his  elbows  on 
the  pine  and  his  hands  clutching  his  short 
hair,  while  the  tiny,  unshaded  lamp  stared 
in  his  face,  and  he  dug  away  with  a  per- 
tinacity that  meant  and  insured  success. 

"And  what  book  is  that  you've  got  ? " 
she  would  ask  when  he  occasionally  lifted 
his  eyes.  He  would  tell  her  and,  in  a 
moment,  be  lost  to  all  surroundings.  For 
little  Jim  was  getting  considerable  enjoy- 
ment out  of  his  hard  work. 

"Pat  nor  Moike  niver  studied  loike 
that,"  thought  Mrs.  O'Callaghan.  "Nor 
did  even  Andy.  Andy,  he  always  jist 
loved  his  book  and  took  his  larnin'  in 
aisy  loike.  But  look  at  that  little  Jim 
work!"  As  for  little  Jim,  he  did  not 
seem  to  observe  that  he  was  enjoying  his 
mother's  favorable  regard. 
266 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"And  what  book  is  it  you  loike  the 
best?"  she  asked  one  evening  when  Jim 
was  about  to  go  to  bed. 

"  The  history  book,"  was  the  answer. 

"And  why?" 

"  'Cause  there's  always  a  lot  about  the 
big  foightin'  men  in  it." 

"Ah!"  said  the  widow. 
"Andy,  he  loiked  the  his- 
tory book  best,  too.  But 
t  didn't  know  before  'twas 
for  the  foightin'." 

"'Tain't," briefly  replied^ 
little  Jim.     And  seeing  his 
mother's  questioning  look 
he  went  on :    "  The  history  « «Look  at  that  little  jim  work!' " 
book's  got  a  lot  in  it,  too, 
about  the  way  the  people  lived,  and  the 
kings    and  queens,  and  them  that  wrote 
poems  and  things.     'Tis  for   that  Andy 
loikes  the  history  book.     He'll  be  writin' 
himself  one  of  these  days,  I'm  thinkin'. 
His  teacher  says  he  writes  the  best  essays 
in  the  school  already." 

And    having    thus     artlessly    betrayed 
267 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Andy's  ambition,  little  Jim  went  to 
bed. 

"Ah  ! "  thought  the  widow,  getting  out 
her  darning,  for  only  one  could  use  the 
lamp  at  a  time,  and  if  Jim  was  of  a  mind 
to  study  she  was  of  no  mind  to  hinder 
him.  "And  is  that  what  Andy'd  be  at  ? 
I  wonder  now  if  that's  a  good  business  ? 
I  don't  know  none  of  them  that  has  it,  and 
I  can't  tell."  She  drew  one  of  Jim's 
stockings  over  her  hand  and  eyed  rumi- 
natingly  the  prodigious  hole  in  the  heel. 
"That  b'y  do  be  gettin'  through  his 
stockin's  wonderful,"  she  said  dismissing 
Andy  from  her  thoughts.  "  Well,  if  he 
niver  does  no  worse  than  that  I'll  not  be 
complainin',  but  sure  and  he  can  make 
more  darnin'  than  Pat  and  Moike  and 
Andy  put  together." 

Why  are  the  winds  of  March  so  high? 
This  spring  they  blew  a  gale.  As  they 
roared  around  corners  and  through  tree 
tops  and  rushed  down  the  streets  with 
fury  they  made  pedestrians  unsteady.  But 
they  did  not  disturb  little  Jim,  who  but- 
268 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

toned  up  his  coat  tight,  drew  down  his  hat 
and  squared  his  shoulders  as  he  went  out 
to  meet  their  buffets.  There  was  that  in 
little  Jim  that  rejoiced  in  such  weather. 

One  day  those  frantic  winds  reached 
down  the  big  schoolhouse  chimney  and 
drew  up  a  spark  of  fire  from  the  furnace 
in  the  basement.  They  lodged  it  where 
it  would  do  the  most  harm,  and,  in  a  short 
time,  the  janitor  was  running  with  a  white 
face  to  the  principal's  office.  As  quietly 
as  possible  each  teacher  was  called  out  into 
the  hall  and  warned.  And,  in  a  few  mo- 
ments more,  the  pupils  in  every  room 
were  standing  in  marching  order  waiting 
for  the  word  to  file  out.  Something  was 
wrong  each  room  knew  from  the  face  of 
its  teacher.  And  then  came  the  clang  of 
the  fire  bell,  and  the  waiting  ranks  were 
terrified. 

Little  Jim's  teacher  on  the  second  floor 
was  an  extremely  nervous  young  woman. 
In  a  voice  that  trembled  with  fright  and 
excitement  she  had  managed  to  give  her 
orders.  She  had  stationed  most  of  the 
269 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

boys  in  a  line  running  north  and  south 
and  farthest  from  the  door.  Nearest  the 
door  were  the  girls  and  some  of  the 
smaller  boys.  And  now  they  must  wait 
for  the  signal  that  should  announce  the 
turn  of  their  room  to  march  out.  As  it 
happened,  little  Jim  stood  at  the  head  of 
the  line  of  boys,  with  the  girls  not  far  from 
him.  The  fire  bell  was  ringing  and  all 
the  whistles  in  the  town  screaming.  Below 
them  they  could  hear  the  little  ones  hur- 
ried out ;  above  them  and  on  the  stairs 
the  third-floor  pupils  marching;  and  then 
in  little  Jim's  room  there  was  panic.  The 
girls  huddled  closer  together  and  began  to 
cry.  The  boys  behind  little  Jim  began  to 
crowd  and  push.  The  nearest  boy  was 
against  him  when  little  Jim  half  turned 
and  threw  him  back  to  place  by  a  vigorous 
jerk  of  his  elbow. 

"  Boys  !  Boys!"  screamed  the  teacher. 
"Standstill!" 

But  they  did  not  heed.  Again  they 
struggled  forward,  while  the  teacher  cov- 
ered her  face  with  her  hands  in  horror  at 
270 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

the  thought  of  what  would  happen  on  the 
crowded  stairways  if  her  boys  rushed  out. 

And  then  little  Jim  turned  his  back  on 
the  door  and  the  girls  near  him  and  made 
ready  his  fists.  "  The  first  boy  that  comes 
I'll  knock  down !  "  he  cried.  And  the 
line  shrank  back. 

"We'll  be  burned!  We'll  be  burned 
up!"  shrieked  a  boy,  one  of  the  farthest 
away. 

"You  won't  be  burned  nayther,"  called 
back  little  Jim.  "  But  you'll  wish  you  was 
to-morrow  if  wan  of  you  gets  past  me. 
Just  you  jump  them  desks  and  get  past 
me  and  I'll  lick  you  till  you'll  wish  you 
was  burnt  up! " 

Little  Jim's  aspect  was  so  fierce,  and  the 
boys  knew  so  well  that  he  would  do  just 
as  he  said,  that  not  one  moved  from  his 
place.  One  minute  little  Jim  held  that 
line  of  boys.  Then  the  door  opened  and 
out  filed  the  girls.  When  the  last  one  had 
disappeared  little  Jim  stepped  aside.  "  Go 
out  now,"  he  said  with  fine  contempt, 
"you  that  are  so  afraid  you'll  get  burned 
271 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

yourselves    that    you'd    tramp    the    girls 
down." 

The  last  to  leave  the  room  were  the 
teacher  and  little  Jim.  Her  grasp  on  his 
arm  trembled,  but  it  did  not  let  go,  even 
when  they  had  reached  the  campus  which 
was  full  of  people.  Every  business  man 
had  locked  his  doors  and  had  run  with  his 
clerks  to  the  fire.  For  this  was  no  or- 
dinary fire.  The  children  of  the  town 
were  in  danger.  At  a  distance  Jim  could 
see  Pat  with  Larry  in  his  arms  and  Barney 
and  Tommie  close  beside  him,  and  here 
and  there,  moving  anxiously  through  the 
crowd,  he  saw  General  Brady  and  Mike 
and  Andy.  But  the  teacher's  grasp  on  his 
arm  did  not  relax.  The  fire  was  under 
control  now  and  no  damage  had  been  done 
that  could  not  be  repaired.  And  the  teach- 
er was  talking.  And  everybody  near  was 
listening,  and  more  were  crowding  around 
and  straining  their  ears  to  hear.  Those 
nearest  were  passing  the  story  on,  a  sen- 
tence at  a  time,  after  the  manner  of  inter- 
preters, and  suddenly  there  was  a  shout, 
272 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Three  cheers  for  little  Jim  O'Calla- 
ghan!" 

And  then  Mike  came  tearing  up  and 
gave  him  a  hug  and  a  pat  on  the  back. 
And  up  came  Andy  with  a  look  in  his  eyes 
that  made  little  Jim  forgive  him  on  the 
spot  for  being  first  in  that  housework  team 
in  which  he  himself  had  been  placed  second 
by  his  mother.  And  the  General  had  him 
by  the  hand  with  a  "Well  done,  Jim!" 
At  which  Jim  appeared  a  trifle  bewildered. 
His  righting  propensities  had  been  frowned 
on  so  long. 

At  her  wash  place  the  widow  had  heard 
nothing,  the  wind  having  carried  all  sounds 
of  commotion  the  other  way,  and  there 
were  no  children  in  the  family  to  come  un- 
expectedly home  bringing  the  news.  It 
was  when  she  stepped  into  her  own  kitchen, 
earlier  than  usual,  and  found  Barney  and 
Tommie  there  with  Larry,  who  had  ac- 
companied them  that  day  as  visitor,  that 
she  first  heard  of  the  fire.  And  the  im- 
portant thing  to  Barney  and  Tommie  was 
that  their  vacation  had  come  sooner  than 
273 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

they  had  hoped.  Later  came  Jim,  step- 
ping high  from  the  General's  praise.  But 
his  mother  thought  nothing  of  that.  Jim's 
ways  were  apt  to  be  airy. 

But  when  Pat  and  Mike  came  to  sup- 
per the  story  was  told.  The  widow  lis- 
tened with  an  expression  of  pride.  And 
when  the  story  and  the  supper  were  fin- 
ished she  took  little  Jim  by  the  hand  and 
led  him  along  the  tortuous  path  through 
the  furniture  to  the  family  seat  of  honor. 
"  Sit  there  in  the  father's  chair,"  she  com- 
manded. "I  niver  thought  to  be  puttin' 
wan  of  my  b'ys  there  for  foightin',  but 
foightin's  the  thing  sometimes." 

This  was  on  Tuesday.  The  next  day 
the  leading  paper  of  the  town  came  out, 
and  it  contained  a  full  account  of  little 
Jim's  coolness  and  bravery. 

"  They'll  be  spoilin'  little  Jim,  so  they 
will,"  said  the  widow  as  she  read  with 
glistening  eyes.  Then  she  rose  to  put 
the  paper  carefully  away  among  the  few 
family  treasures,  and  set  about  making  lit- 
tle Jim  a  wonderful  pudding.  If  he  were 
274 


"  'Three  cheers  for  little  Jim  O'Callaghan.' 
275 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

to  be  spoiled  she  might  as  well  have  a  hand 
in  it.  "Though  maybe  he  won't  be 
nayther,"  she  said.  "  Him  that  had  that 
much  sinse  had  ought  to  have  enough  to 
stand  praisin'." 

That  evening  home  came  Andy  to  find 
his  mother  absorbed  in  the  fascinating  oc- 
cupation of  hearing  from  little  Jim's  own 
lips  what  each  individual  person  had  said 
to  him  during  the  day. 

"  Well,"  little  Jim  was  saying  just  as 
Andy  came  in,  "I  should  think  they'd 
said  'most  enough.  I  didn't  do  anything 
but  keep  them  lubberly  boys  from  tramp- 
in'  the  girls  down,  and  it  was  easy  enough 
done,  too." 

At  which  speech  the  widow  perceived 
that,  as  yet,  little  Jim  was  not  particularly 
spoiled  by  all  his  praise.  "  'Twas  the 
history  book  that  done  it,"  thought  the 
mother  thankfully.  "  Sure  and  he  knows 
he's  done  foine,  but  he  ain't  been  braggin' 
on  himself  much  since  he  took  to  that,  I've 
noticed.  There's  books  of  all  sorts,  so 
there  is,  some  for  wan  thing  and  some  for 
277 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

another,  but  it's  the  history  book  that 
cures  the  consate." 

"  We're  very  busy  up  at  our  house," 
observed  Andy.  And  the  widow  could 
scarcely  bring  herself  to  heed  him. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Andy.  "We've  been 
baking  cake  to-day,  and  there's  more  to 
do  to-morrow.  The  General  and  Mrs. 
Brady  are  going  to  give  little  Jim  a  party 
Friday  evening.  General  Brady  is  won- 
derfully pleased  with  Jim." 

Then  indeed  he  had  his  mother's  atten- 
tion. "  A  party,  is  it?"  she  said  with  grat- 
ified pride.  "'Tis  the  Gineral  and  Mrs. 
Brady  that  knows  how  to  take  a  body's 
full  cup  and  jist  run  it  over.  I  couldn't 
have  wished  nothin'  no  better  than  that. 
And  nobody  couldn't  nayther.  I'll  be  up 
to-morrow  mysilf  to  help  and  the  nixt  day, 
too.  Don't  tell  me  there's  nothin'  I  can't 
be  doin'.  Jim  can  run  things  to  home, 
can't  you,  Jim?" 

Little  Jim  thought  he  could. 

"I'll  have  Pat  and  Moike  see  to  gettin' 
him  a  new  suit  to-morrow.  It's  late  to  be 
278 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

gettin'  him  a  new  suit  and  him  a-growin', 
but  if  he  can't  wear  it  nixt  fall  Barney 
can,  and  it's  proud  he'll  be  to  do  it,  I'm 
thinkin'.  'Tisn't  often  the  nixt  youngest 
b'y  has  a  chance  to  wear  a  new  suit  got  for 
his  brother  because"  he  done  good  and 
hadn't  nothin'  fit  to  wear  to  a  party, 
nayther.  But  Wennott's  the  town.  A 
party  for  my  Jim,  and  at  Gineral  Brady's, 
too !  Would  anybody  have  belaved  it 
when  we  come  with  nothin'  to  the  shanty  ? 
'Tis  the  proudest  thing  that  iver  come  to 
us,  but  no  pride  could  there  be  about  it  if 
little  Jim  hadn't  desarved  it." 

The  widow's  heart  was  full.  "  Ivery 
b'y,  as  he  has  come  along,  has  made  me 
proud,"  she  went  on.  "  First  Pat  and 
then  Moike  and  then  you,  Andy,  with 
your  book,  and  now  little  Jim  with  his 
foightin'.  And  that's  what  beats  me,  that 
I  should  be  proud  of  my  b'y's  foightin'. 
And  I  am  that." 

Friday  evening  seemed  a  long  way  off 
to  little  Jim  when  he  lay  down  on  his  bed 
that  night.  He  had  never  attended  a 
279 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

party  in  his  life.  Andy  had  spoken  of 
cake,  and,  by  private  questioning,  little 
Jim  had  discovered  that  there  would  be 
ice  cream.  He  tried  to  imagine  what  a 
party  was  like,  but  having  no  knowledge 
to  go  on,  he  found  the  effort  wearisome 
and  so  dropped  asleep. 


280 


CHAPTER  XXI 

Little  Jim  had  never  been  farther  than 
General  Brady's  kitchen.  It  was  a  kitchen 
of  which  he  approved  because  it  had  no 
path  in  it.  One  might  go  through  it  in 
a  great  hurry  without  coming  to  grief  on 
some  chair  back,  or  the  footboard  of  the 
mother's  bed,  or  the  rocker  of  the  father's 
chair.  Neither  was  one  in  danger  of 
bringing  up  suddenly  on  the  corner  of  the 
table,  or  against  the  side  of  the  stove. 
The  younger  O'Callaghans  were  free  from 
numerous  bruises  only  because  they  knew 
their  way  and  proceeded  with  caution. 
There  was  no  banging  the  door  open  sud- 
denly at  the  shartty,  because  there  was 
always  some  article  of  furniture  behind 
the  door  to  catch  it  and  bang  it  back 
sharply  into  a  boy's  face.  It  was  upon 
these  differences  in  the  two  kitchens  that 
little  Jim  reflected  when,  arrayed  in  the 
281 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

new  suit,  he  slipped  around  the  house  and 
was  ushered  in  by  Andy. 

"What's  this!"  cried  the  General,  who 
had  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  swiftly  scud- 
ding little  figure  as  it  rounded  the  corner. 
"What's  this  !"  and  he  stood  smiling  at 
the  door  that  opened  from  the  back  of  the 
hall  into  the  kitchen.  "  The  hero  of  the 
hour  coming  in  by  the  back  door.  This 
will  never  do,  Jim.  Come  with  me." 

Bravely  little  Jim  went  forward.  He 
stepped  into  the  hall  close  behind  the 
General,  and  suddenly  glanced  down.  He 
could  hardly  believe  his  ears.  Was  he 
growing  deaf?  There  walked  the  General 
ahead  of  him,  and  little  Jim  could  not 
hear  a  footfall,  neither  could  he  hear  his 
own  tread. 

But  little  Jim  said  nothing.  They 
were  now  come  to  the  hall  tree,  and  the 
General  himself  helped  his  guest  off  with 
his  overcoat  and  hung  it  beside  his  own. 
And  as  for  little  Jim,  he  could  hang  up 
his  own  cap  when  his  host  showed  him 
where. 

282 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Then  in  through  the  parlor  door  they 
went  and  on  through  the  folding  doors 
into  the  sitting-room  where  Mrs.  Brady 
stood  among  her  plants.  She  had  just 
cut  two  lovely  roses  from  the  same  bush, 
and  one  she  pinned  on  her  husband's  coat 
and  the  other  on  little  Jim's  jacket. 

"  Parties  is  queer,"  thought  little  Jim, 
"  but  they're  nice." 

For  Mrs.  Brady,  in  her  quiet  way,  was 
contriving  to  let  the  boy  understand  that 
she  thought  exceedingly  well  of  him.  It 
began  to  grow  dusk,  but  it  was  not  yet  so 
dark  that  little  Jim  failed  to  see  Pat  and 
Mike  come  in  and  run  lightly  up  the 
stairs.  And  then  there  was  a  tramp  of 
feet  outside,  the  doorbell  rang,  and  as  the 
electric  light  flooded  the  house,  Andy 
opened  the  front  door  and  in  trooped 
boys  and  girls. 

Little  Jim  was  amazed.  Not  one  came 
into  the  parlor,  but  Andy  sent  them  all 
upstairs. 

"  Is  them  boys  and  girls  the  party  ?  " 
he  asked  quickly  of  Mrs.  Brady. 
283 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"Yes,  Jim,"  was  the  kind  answer. 
"Your  party." 

Little  Jim  reflected.  "I'd  best  not  be 
lickin'  any  of  the  boys  then  this  evenin'?" 
And  he  turned  inquiring  eyes  on  Mrs. 
Brady. 

Mrs.  Brady  smiled.  "  No,  Jim,"  she 
replied.  "  You  must  try  to  please  them 
in  every  way  that  you  can,  and  make 
them  enjoy  themselves." 

"  Let  'em  do  just  as  they're  a  moind  to, 
and  not  raise  a  fuss  about  it  ?  " 

"Yes." 

Little  Jim  straightened  himself.  "  I 
never  seen  no  parties  before,"  he  said, 
"but  I  guess  I  can  run  it." 

And  then  downstairs  came  the  guests 
and  into  the  parlor  to  shake  hands  with 
General  and  Mrs.  Brady  and  Jim.  The 
gay  company  spread  themselves  through 
the  parlor  and  sitting-room.  They  chat- 
tered, they  laughed,  they  got  up  from 
their  seats  and  sat  down  again,  and  all  the 
time  little  Jim  had  a  keen  eye  upon  them. 
He  had  never  before  seen  little  girls 
284 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

dressed  so,  and  he  noticed  that  every  boy 
had  a  flower  on  his  jacket. 

And  then  little  Jim  bestirred  himself. 
He  was  here,  there,  and  everywhere.  Did 
a  girl  suggest  a  game,  Jim  so  engineered 
that  the  whole  company  were  soon  en- 
gaged in  it,  and  he  himself  was  the  gayest 
player  of  all.  Not  once  did  he  suggest 
anything.  But  often  he  slipped  up  to 
Mrs.  Brady  or  the  General  and  did  what 
he  had  never  done  before  in  his  life — 
asked  advice. 

"  Am  I  runnin'  it  right  ?  "  he  would 
whisper  in  Mrs.  Brady's  ear;  and  mur- 
mur apologetically  to  the  General,  "  I 
never  seen  no  parties  before." 

"And  how  do  you  like  parties,  Jim  ?  " 
asked  the  General  indulgently. 

"  I  think  there's  nothin'  to  equal  'em," 
was  the  fervent  answer.  And  then  away 
went  the  young  host. 

At  half-past  nine  Andy  appeared  at  the 

hall  door.     Jim  saw   him   and   his   heart 

sank.     Was  the  party  over?     He  feared 

so,   since     Mrs.    Brady,   followed   by  the 

285 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

General,  went  out  of  the  room.  But  in 
a  moment  the  General  came  back  to  the 
doorway.  The  guests  seemed  to  under- 
stand, for  a  sudden  hush  fell  on  the  talka- 
tive tongues.  The  General  saw  Jim's  un- 
certain expression  and  beckoned  to  him. 
"  We  are  going  out  to  supper,"  he  said. 

"  Go  ask  Annie  Jamieson  to  walk  out  with 

» 
you. 

Jim  obeyed  promptly.  All  at  once  he 
remembered  the  cake  and  ice  cream.  His 
heart  swelled  with  pride  as  he  led  the 
pretty  little  girl  across  the  hall  and  into 
the  dining-room.  And  there  were  Pat  and 
Mike  and  Andy  showing  the  guests  to 
their  places  and  prepared  to  wait  upon 
them.  And  if  they  beamed  upon  little 
Jim,  he  beamed  back  with  interest.  He 
was  supremely  happy.  How  glad  he  was 
that  Mike  had  taught  him  Mrs.  Brady's 
way  of  laying  the  table,  and  how  to  eat 
properly !  He  thought  of  his  mother 
and  wished  that  she  might  see  him.  But 
she  was  at  home  caring  for  Barney  and 
Tommie  and  Larry. 

286 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Sure  and  I  can't  lave  'em  by  thim- 
silves  in  the  evenin'.  Something  moight 
happen  to  'em,"  said  this  faithful  mother. 

Such  food  Jim  had  not  tasted  before, 
but  he  ate  sparingly.  He  was  too  happy 
to  eat,  for  little  Jim,  although  extremely 
fond  of  pudding,  was  no  glutton.  There 
he  sat  with  his  auburn  hair  on  end,  his 
blue  eyes  bright  and  shining,  smiles  and 
grave  looks  chasing  themselves  over  his 
face  till  the  General  was  prouder  of  him 
than  ever. 

"I'm  not  sure  but  he's  the  O'Calla- 
ghan,"  he  told  his  wife,  when  the  children 
had  gone  back  to  the  parlor  for  a  final 
game  before  the  party  should  break  up. 
"  But  it  is  that  mother  of  his  and  his 
older  brothers  who  have  brought  him 
on." 

Meanwhile,  in  the  kitchen,  Pat  and 
Mike  and  Andy  washed  the  dishes  and 
put  things  to  rights  with  three  hearts  full 
of  pride  in  little  Jim. 

"  To   think  the  mother  was   afraid  he 
would  turn  out  an  agitator !  "  said  Pat. 
287 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  This  night  settles  that,"  responded 
Mike.  "  He's  more  likely  to  turn  out  a 
society  man.  He'll  be  a  credit  to  us  all." 

At  last  the  guests  were  gone.  And  then 
for  the  first  time  little  Jim's  eyes  exam- 
ined with  keen  scrutiny  the  pretty  rooms, 
while  the  General  and  Mrs.  Brady  kept 
silence,  content  to  observe  him  with  affec- 
tionate interest.  Finally  the  boy  came 
back  from  things  to  people,  and  he  came 
with  a  sigh. 

"Have  you  enjoyed  yourself?"  asked 
the  General,  smiling. 

"Yes,  sir.  I  never  had  such  a  toime 
before  in  my  loife.  'Tis  parties  as  are  the 
thing."  He  paused  and  then  asked, 
"  How  will  I  be  goin'  at  it  to  get  me  a 
house  like  this  ?  " 

And  then  the  General  looked  aston- 
ished. He  had  not  yet  fully  measured 
little  Jim's  ambition  that  stopped  at  noth- 
ing. Hitherto  it  had  been  that  perni- 
cious ambition  that  desires,  and  at  the  same 
time,  lazily  refuses  to  put  forth  the  exer- 
tion necessary  to  attain,  or  it  had  been 
288 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

that  other  scarcely  less  reprehensible  am- 
bition that  exerts  itself  simply  to  outshine 
others,  and  Mrs.  O'Callaghan  had  had 
good  cause  to  be  anxious  about  Jim.  To- 
night it  was  the  right  sort  of  ambition, 
backed  by  a  remarkably  strong  will  and 
boundless  energy.  He  looked  up  at  the 
General  with  confidence  and  waited  to  be 
told  just  how  he  could  get  such  a  house 
for  himself. 

The  General  gazed  down  into  the  clear, 
unashamed  depths  of  little  Jim's  blue 
eyes.  The  attitude  of  the  O'Callaghan's 
toward  him  always  touched  him.  His 
money  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  nor  had 
his  superior  social  position.  It  was  he 
himself  that  the  O'Callaghans  respected, 
admired,  loved  and  venerated,  and  this 
without  in  the  least  abating  their  own  self- 
respect  and  independence.  It  was  like 
being  the  head  of  a  clan,  the  General  told 
himself,  and  he  liked  it.  So  now  he  an- 
swered with  his  hand  on  little  Jim's  shoul- 
der, "  Work,  my  boy,  and  study,  work 
and  study." 

289 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  "  questioned  Jim 
disappointedly.  "Sure  and  that's  like  my 
mother  tellin'  me  dustin'  and  dishwashin' 
was  my  two  first  steps." 

"  Well,  they  were  your  first  steps,  Jim, 
because  they  were  the  duties  that  lay  near- 
est you.  Bu«t  it  will  take  more  than  work 
and  study,  after  all." 

"  I  thought  it  would,  sir.  This  is  an 
awful  nice  house." 

tf  Would  you  like  to  walk  upstairs  and 
look  about  ?  "  asked  the  General. 

"  I  would,"  was  the  eager  answer. 

So  the  General  and  Mrs.  Brady  and 
Jim  went  up. 

"  This  is  the  sort  of  a  room  for  my 
mother,"  declared  little  Jim,  after  he  had 
carefully  examined  the  large  guest  cham- 
ber. "  Pat  and  Mike  got  her  the  sum- 
mer kitchen,  but  I'll  be  gettin'  her  a  whole 
house,  so  I  will.  Sleepin'  in  the  kitchen 
will  do  for  them  that  likes  it.  And  now 
what's  the  rest  of  it  besides  work  and 
study  ? " 


290 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  any  poor  boys 
smoke  cigars,  Jim  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  cigarettes  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And  pipes?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  drink  beer?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  And  whisky  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  chew  tobacco  ? " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Those  are  the  boys  who,  when  they 
are  men,  are  going  to  be  poor.  Mark 
that,  Jim.  They  are  going  to  be  poor." 

"They  won't  have  any  house  like 
this  ? " 

"  Not  unless  somebody  who  has  worked 
hard  gives  it  to  them,  or  unless  they  cheat 
for  it,  Jim." 

"Huh!"    said  Jim.     "I'm    down    on 

cheatin'.     I'll  lick  any  boy  that  cheats  me 

or  tries  to,  and  I   don't  want  nobody  to 

give  me   nothin'."     And  with  that  little 

291 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

Jim  cooled  down  to  pursue  his  former 
train  of  thought. 

"And  if  I  work  and  study  and  let  them 
things  alone  I  can  have  a  house  like  this 
some  day?" 

"Yes,  Jim,  if  some  misfortune  does  not 
befall  you,  like  a  long  sickness  in  the  fam- 
ily, or  an  accident  to  you." 

"  I'm  goin'  to  try  for  it,"  declared  Jim 
with  decision.  "  Them  that  would  rather 
have  cigars  and  such  than  a  nice  house  like 
this  can  have  'em,  and  it's  little  sense 
they've  got,  too.  I'll  take  the  house." 

The  General  laughed.  "  You  will  take 
it,  Jim,  I  don't  doubt,"  he  said.  "  Come 
to  me  whenever  you  wish  to  ask  any 
questions,  and  I  will  answer  them  if  I 
can." 

"  I  will,  sir,"  replied  little  Jim.  "And 
when  you  want  me  to  I'll  wash  your 
dishes.  I  said  once  I  wouldn't,  but  now  I 
will." 

"  Thank  you,  Jim,"  responded  the 
General. 

Peppery,  headstrong  little  Jim  went 
292 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

home  that  night  walking  very  erect.  Pat 
and  Mike  were  one  on  each  side  of  him, 
but  he  hardly  knew  it,  he  was  so  busy 
looking  forward  to  the  time  when  he 
should  have  a  house  like  the  General's, 


"  Pat  and  Mike  were  one  on  each  side  of  him." 

when  his  mother  would  pin  a  flower  on 
his  coat,  and  he  should  give  parties,  and  as 
many  of  them  as  he  chose. 

And  of  all  these  plans  his  mother  heard 
with  wonder  and  astonishment. 

"Your  party's  made  a  man  of  you, 
Jim,"  said  the  widow  at  last.  "I'd  niver 
293 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

have  thought  of  a  party  doin'  it,  nayther, 
though  I  was  wantin'  it  done  bad.  Your 
father  was  the  man  as  loiked  noice  things, 
and  he'd  have  got  'em,  too,  if  sickness 
hadn't  come  to  him." 

And  now  little  Jim's  reward  had  come. 
At  last  his  mother  had  said  he  was  like  his 
father.  He  was  as  good  as  Pat  and  Mike 
and  Andy,  and  his  heart  swelled. 

"  But,  Jim,  dear,  you'd  be  gettin'  your 
house  quicker  if  we  was  all  to  help  toward 
it." 

"And  then  'twouldn't  be  mine,"  ob- 
jected Jim. 

"  No  more  it  wouldn't,"  assented  Mrs. 
O'Callaghan,  "  but  'twould  be  better  than 
livin'  in  the  shanty  years  and  years.  You 
don't  want  to  kape  livin'  here  till  you  have 
a  foine  house  loike  the  Gineral's,  do  you, 
Jim  ?  " 

"  No,"  reluctantly  answered  the  little 
fellow,  glancing  about  him. 

"  I  knowed  you  didn't.  For  sure  you're 
not  the  wan  to  let  your  ambition  run  away 


294 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

with  your  sinse.  A  neat  little  house,  now, 
with  only  two  b'ys  to  a  bedroom  and  wan 
bedroom  for  me — what  do  you  say  to  it, 
Jim?" 

Then  and  there  it  was  settled,  and  that 
night  each  boy  had  a  different  dream  about 
the  neat  little  house  to  be — Jim's,  of  course, 
being  the  most  extravagant.  That  week 
the  first  five  dollars  toward  it  was  depos- 
ited with  the  General. 

"And  I'll  be  keepin'  a  sharp  lookout 
on  Barney  and  Tommie,"  was  Jim's  un- 
asked promise  to  his  mother.  "You've 
no  idea  what  little  chaps  smoke  them 
cigarettes.  I  can  fix  it.  I'll  just  be  lettin' 
the  boys  know  that  every  wan  of  'em  that 
helps  Barney  and  Tommie  to  wan  of  them 
things  will  get  a  lickin'  from  me." 

"  Is  that  the  best  way,  do  you  think, 
Jim?" 

"  Sure  and  I  know  it  is.  I've  seen  them 
big  boys  givin'  'em  to  the  little  wans,  par- 
ticular to  them  as  their  folks  don't  want 
to  use  'em.  The  General's  down  on  them 


295 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

things,  and  Barney  and  Tommie  shan't 
have  'em." 

"Five  dollars  in  the  bank!"  exclaimed 
the  widow.  She  was  surrounded  by  her 
eldest  four  sons,  for  it  was  seven  o'clock 
in  the  morning.  "  Two  years  we've  been 
in  town,  and  them  two  years  has  put  all 
four  of  you  where  I'm  proud  of  you.  All 
four  of  you  has  sat  in  the  father's  chair 
for  good  deeds  done.  What  I'm  thinkin' 
is,  will  Barney  and  Tommie  and  Larry  sit 
there,  too,  when  their  turn  comes?" 

"They  will  that!"  declared  Jim  with 
authority. 

"  Of  course  they  will,  mother,"  encour- 
aged Pat. 

"They  are  father's  boys,  too,"  said 
Andy. 

"  And  your  boys,  mother.  Where  else 
would  your  boys  sit?"  asked  Mike. 

And  then  the  widow  smiled.  "  I  belave 
you'll  ivery  wan  of  you  come  to  good," 
she  said.  "  There's  small  bad  ahead  of 
b'ys  that  has  a  bit  of  heartsome  blarney 
for  their  mother,  and  love  in  their  eyes  to 
296 


The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  Boys 

back  their  words.  Some  has  farms  and 
money.  But  if  any  one  would  be  tellin' 
of  my  riches,  sure  all  they've  got  to  say 
is,  'The  Widow  O'Callaghan's  b'ys.'  " 


THE    END. 


297 


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